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VOL. 11. 

HontJon : 





The "Carmarthen Herald" . . . 1 

An Action for Libel .... 20 

Cousin Henry makes another Attempt . 39 

Again at Hereford 58 

Mr. Cheekey . . . . . .74 

Cousin Henry goes to Carmarthen . . 94 



PA as 

Mr. Apjohn sends for Assistance . .113 

Doubts 132 

Mr. Apjohn's Success . . . .150 


How Cousin Henry was let off easily . 169 

Isabel's Petition . . . . .188 

Conclusion 207 




Theee was a great deal said at Carmarthen 
about the old Squire's will. Such scenes as 
that which had taken place in the house, 
first when the will was produced, then when 
the search was made, and afterwards when 
the will was read, do not pass without com- 
ment. There had been many present, and 
some of them had been much moved bj the 
circumstances. The feeling that the Squire 
had executed a will subsequent to that which 
had now been proved was very strong, and 

VOL. II. ''/ B 


the idea suggested by Mr. Apjohn that the 
Squire himself had^ in the weakness of his lat- 
ter moments, destroyed this document, was not 
generally accepted. Had he done so, something 
of it would have been known. The ashes of 
the paper or the tattered fragments would bave 
been seen. Whether Mr. Apjohn himself did 
or did not believe that it had been so, others 
would not think it. Among the tenants and 
the servants at Llanfeare there was a general 
feeling that something wrong had been done. 
They who were most inclined to be charitable 
in their judgment, such as John Griffith of 
Coed, thought that the document was still hid- 
den, and that it might not improbably be 
brought to light at last. Others were con* 
vinced that it had fallen into the hands of the 
present possessor of the property, and that it 
had been feloniously but successfully destroyed 
No guess at the real truth was made by any one. 
How should a man have guessed that the 
false heir should have sat there with the will. 


as it were, before his eyes, close at his hand, 
and neither have destroyed nor revealed its 
existence ? 

Among those who believed the worst as to 
Cousin Henry were the two Cantors. When a 
man has seen a thing done himself he'^as prone 
to believe in it, — and the more so when he has 
had a hand in the doing. They had been 
selected for the important operation of witness- 
ing the will, and did not in the least doubt that 
the will had been in existence when the old 
Squire died. It might have been destroyed 
since. They believed that it had been de- 
stroyed. But they could not be brought to 
understand that so great an injustice should 
be allowed to remain on the face of the earth 
without a remedy or without punishment. 
Would it not be enough for a judge to know that 
they, two respectable men, had witnessed a new 
will, and that this new will had certainly been in 
opposition to the one which had been so fraudu- 
lently proved ? The younger Cantor especially 

B 2 


was loud upon the subject^ and got many ears in 
Carmarthen to listen to him. 

The Carmarthen Herald, a newspaper bear- 
ing a high character throughout South Wales, 
took the matter up very strongly, so that it be- 
came a question whether the new Squire would 
not be driven to defend himself by an action 
for libel. It was not that the writer declared 
that Cousin Henry had destroyed the will, but 
that he published minute accounts of all that 
had been done at Llanfeare, putting forward in 
every paper as it came out the reason which ex- 
isted for supposing that a wrong had been done. 
That theory that old Indefer Jones had himself 
destroyed his last will without saying a word of 
his purpose to any one was torn to tatters. 
The doctor had been with him from day to day, 
and must almost certainly have known it had 
such an intention been in his mind. The house- 
keeper would have known it. Henry Jones 
himself must have known it. The nephew and 
professed heir had said not a word to any one of 


what had passed between himself and his uncle. 
Could they who had known old Indefer Jones 
for so many years^ and were aware that he 
had been governed by the highest sense of 
honour through his entire life,, could they 
bring themselves to believe that he should have 
altered the will made in his nephew^s favour, 
and then realtered it, going back to his inten- 
tions in that nephew^ s favour, without saying a 
word to his nephew on the subject? But 
Henry Jones had given no account of any 
such word. Henry Jones had been silent as to 
all that occurred during those last wrecks. 
Henry Jones had not only been silent when 
the will was being read, when the search was 
being made, but had sat there still in con- 
tinued silence. " We do not say/^ continued 
the writer in the paper, " that Henry Jones 
since he became owner of Llanfeare has been 
afraid to mingle with his brother men. We 
have no right to say so. But we consider it 
to be our duty to declare that such has been 



the fact. Circumstances will from time to 
time occur in wliicli it becomes necessary on 
public grounds to inquire into the privacy of 
individuals^, and we think that the circum- 
stances now as to this property are of this 
nature/' As will be the case in such matters, 
these expressions became gradually stronger, 
till it was conceived to be the object of those 
concerned in making them to drive Henry 
Jones to seek for legal redress, — so that he 
might be subjected to cross-examination as to 
the transactions and words of that last fortnight 
before his uncle's death. It was the opinion 
of many that if he could be forced into a 
witness-box, he would be made to confess if 
there were anything to confess. The cowardice 
of the man became known, — or was rather ex- 
aggerated in the minds of those around him. 
It was told of him how he lived in the one 
room, how rarely he left the house, how totally 
he was without occupation. More than the 
truth was repeated as to his habits, till all Car- 

marthensliire believed that lie was so tram- 
melled by some mysterious consciousness of 
crime as to be unable to perform any of the 
duties of life. When men spoke to him he 
trembled ; when men looked at him he turned 

All his habits were inquired into. It was 
said of him that the Carmarthen Herald was 
the only paper that he saw, and declared of him 
that he spent hour after hour in spelling the 
terrible accusations which, if not absolutely 
made against him, were insinuated. It became 
clear to lawyers, to Mr. Apjohn himself, that 
the man, if honest, should, on behalf of the old 
family and long-respected name, vindicate him- 
self by prosecuting the owner of the paper 
for libel. If he were honest in the matter, 
altogether honest, there could be no reason 
why he should fear to encounter a hostile law- 
yer. There were at last two letters from young 
Joseph Cantor printed in the paper which 
were undoubtedly libellous, — 'letters which 


young Cantor himself certainly could not have 
written, — letters which all Carmarthen knew to 
have been written by some one connected with 
the newspaper, though signed by the young 
farmer, — in which it was positively declared 
that the old Squire had left a later will behind 
him. When it was discussed whether or no 
he could get a verdict, it was clearly shown 
that the getting of a verdict should not be the 
main object of the prosecution. " He has to 
show,^^ said Mr. Apjohn, " that he is not afraid 
to face a court of justice." 

But he was afraid. When we last parted 
with him after his visit to Coed he had not 
seen the beginning of these attacks. On the 
next day the first paper reached him, and they 
who were concerned in it did not spare to send 
him the copies as they were issued. Having 
read the first, he was not able to refuse to 
read what followed. In each issue they were 
carried on, and, as was told of him in Carmar- 
then, he lingered over every agonizing detail 

of the venom wliich was entering into his 
soul. It was in vain that he tried to hide the 
paper^ or to pretend to be indifferent to its 
coming. Mrs. Griffith knew very well where 
the paper was_, and knew also that every word 
had been perused. The month's notice which 
had been accepted from her and the butler in 
lieu of the three months first offered had now 
expired. The man had gone, but she remained, 
as did the two other women. Nothing was said 
as to the cause of their remaining ; but they 
remained. As for Cousin Henry himself, he 
was too weak, too frightened, too completely 
absorbed by the horrors of his situation to ask 
them why they stayed, or to have asked them 
why they went. 

He understood every word that was written 
of him with sharp, minute intelligence. Though 
his spirit was cowed, his mind was still alive to 
ail the dangers of his position. Things were 
being said of him, charges were insinuated, 
which he declared to himself to be false. He 


had not destroyed the will. He had not even 
hidden it. He had only put a book into its 
own place,, carrying out as he did so his 
innocent intention when he had first lifted the 
book. When these searchers had come, doing 
their work so idly, with such incurious futility, 
he had not concealed the book. He had left it 
there on its shelf beneath their hands. Who 
could say that he had been guilty ? If the will 
were found now, who could reasonably'' suggest 
that there had been guilt on his part ? If 
all were known, — except that chance glance of 
his eye which never could be known, — uo one 
could say that he was other than innocent ! 
A.nd yet he knew of himself that he would lack 
strength to stand up in court and endure the 
sharp questions and angry glances of a keen 
lawyer. His very knees would fail to carry him 
through the court. The words would stick in 
his jaws. He would shake and shiver and faint 
before the assembled eyes. It would be easier 


for him to throw himself from the rocks on 
which he had Iain dreaming into the sea than 
to go into a court of law and there tell his own 
story as to the will. They could not force him 
to go. He thought he could perceive as much 
as that. The action, if action there were to 
be, must originate with him. There was no 
evidence on which they could bring a charge of 
felony or even of fraud against him. They 
could not drag him into the court. But he 
knew that all the world would say that if 
he were an honest man, he himself would 
appear there, denounce his defamers, and 
vindicate his own name. As day by day he 
failed to do so, he would be declaring his 
own guilt. Yet he knew that he could not 
do it. 

Was there no escape ? He was quite sure 
now that the price at which he held the property 
was infinitely above its value. Its value ! It 
had no value in his eyes. It was simply a curse 


of whicli he would rid himself with the utmost 
alacrity if only he could rid himself of all that 
had befallen him in achieving it. But how 
should he escape ? Were he now himself to 
disclose the document and carry it into Car- 
marthen, prepared to deliver up the property 
to his cousin, was there one who would not 
think that it had been in his possession from 
before his nucleus death, and that he had now 
been driven by his fears to surrender it ? "Was 
there one who would not believe that he had 
hidden it with his own hands ? How now 
could he personate that magnanimity which 
would have been so easy had he brought forth 
the book and handed it with its enclosure to 
Mr. Apjohn when the lawyer came to read the 

He looked back with dismay at his 
folly at having missed an opportunity so 
glorious. But now there seemed to be no 
escape. Though he left the room daily, no 
one found the will. They were welcome to 


find it if they would, but they did not. That 
base newspaper lied of him, — as he told himself 
bitterly as he read it, — in saying that he did 
not leave his room. Daily did he roam about 
the place for an hour or two, — speaking, in- 
deed, to no one, looking at no one. There the 
newspaper had been true enough. But that 
charge against him of self-imprisonment had 
been false as far as it referred to days subse- 
quent to the rebuke which his housekeeper had 
given him. But no one laid a hand upon the 
book. He almost believed that, were the 
paper left open on the table, no eye would 
examine its contents. There it lay still hidden 
within the folds of the sermon, that weight 
upon his heart, that incubus on his bosom, that 
nightmare which robbed him of all his 
slumbers, and he could not rid himself of its 
presence. Property, indeed ! Oh ! if he were 
only back in London, and his cousin reigning 
at Llanfeare ! 

John Griffith, from Coed, had promised to 


call upon him; but when three weeks had 
passed by, he had not as yet made his 
appearance. Now, on one morning he came 
and found his landlord alone in the book- 
room. ^^This is kind of you, Mr. Griffith/' 
said Cousin Henry, struggling hard to 
assume the manner of a man with a light 

" I have come, Mr. Jones,'' said the farmer 
very seriously, "to say a few words which I 
think ought to be said." 

" What are they, Mr. Griffith ?" 

^' Now, Mr. Jones, I am not a man as is 
given to interfering, — especially not with my 

" I am sure you are not." 

" And, above all, not with my own landlord." 
Then he paused ; but as Cousin Henry could 
not find an appropriate word either for rebuke 
or encouragement, he was driven to go on with 
his story. " I have been obliged to look at 


all those things in the Carmarthen Herald." 
Then Cousin Henry turned deadly pale. ^'We 
have all been driven to look at them. I have 
taken the paper these twenty years, but it is 
sent now to every tenant on the estate, whether 
they pay or whether they don^f . Mrs. Griffith, 
there, in the kitchen has it. I suppose they 
sent it to you, sir ?" 

" Yes ; it does come," said Cousin Henry, 
with the faintest attempt at a smile. 

" And you have read what they say ?" 

'' Yes, the most of it." 

'^ It has been very hard, sir." At this 
Cousin Henry could only affect a ghastly smile. 
'•' Very hard," continued the farmer. '' It has 
made my flesh creep as I read it. Do you 
know what it all means, Mr. Jones ? " 

" I suppose I know." 

^^ It means, — that you have stolen, — the 
estates, — from your cousin, — Miss Brodrick ! " 
This the man said very so.lemnly, bringing out 


eacli single word by itself. ^^ I am not saying 
so, Mr. Jones.^' 

^^ No, no, no/' gasped the miserable wretcb. 

'^ No, indeed. If I thought so, I should not 
be here to tell you what I thought. It is 
because I believe that you are injured that I 
am here.'' 

" I am injured ; I am injured ! " 

"I think so. I believe so. I cannot tell 
what the mystery is, if mystery there be ; but 
I do not believe that you have robbed that 
young lady, your own cousin, by destroying 
such a deed as your uncle's will.'' 

^' No, no, no." 

*' Is there any secret that you can tell ? " 

Awed, appalled, stricken with utter dis- 
may, Cousin Henry sat silent before his 

^' If there be, sir, had you not better confide 
it to some one ? Your uncle knew me well 
for more than forty years, and trusted me 
thoroughly, and I would fain, if I could, do 



something for Ms nephew. If there be any- 
thing to tell, tell it like a man/' 

Still Cousin Henry sat silent. He was unable 
to summon courage at the instant sufficient to 
deny the existence of the secret, nor could he 
resolve to take down the book and show the 
document. He doubted, when the appearance 
of a doubt was in itself evidence of guilt 
in the eyes of the man who was watching 
him. " Oh, Mr. Griffith,^' he exclaimed after a 
while, " will you be my friend ? " 

" I will indeed, Mr. Jones, if I can, — 

"1 have been cruelly used.'' 
"It has been hard to bear," said Mr. 

" Terrible, terrible ! Cruel, cruel ! " Then 
again he paused, trying to make up his 
mind, endeavouring to see by what means 
he could escape from this hell upon earth. If 
there were any means, he might perhaps 
achieve it by aid of this man. The man 



sat silent, watching him, but the way of escape 
did not appear to him. 

" There is no mystery/^ he gasped at last. 

'^ None ? " said the farmer severely. 

" No mystery. What mystery should there 
be ? There was the will. I have destroyed 
nothing. 1 have hidden nothing. I have done 
nothing. Because the old man changed his 
mind so often, am I to be blamed ? '' 

^' Then, Mr. Jones, why do you not say all 
that in a court of law, — on your oath ? '^ 

"How can I do that?" 

" Go to Mr. Apjohn, and speak to him like 
a man. Bid him bring an action in your name 
for libel against the newspaper. Then there 
will be an inquiry. Then you will be put into 
a witness-box, and be able to tell your own 
story on your oath." 

Cousin Henry, groaning, pale and affrighted, 
murmured out something signifying that he 
would think of it. Then Mr. Griffith left 
him. The farmer, when he entered the 

room, had believed his landlord to be inno- 
cent, but that belief had vanished when he took 
his leave. 


C 3 




When tlie man had asked liim tliat question^ 
— Is there any secret you can tell ? — Cousin 
Henry did, for half a minute, make up his 
mind to tell the whole story, and reveal every- 
thing as it had occurred. Then he remem- 
bered the lie which he had told, the lie to 
which he had signed his name when he had 
been called upon to prove the will in Carmar- 
then. Had he not by the unconsidered act of 
that moment committed some crime for which 
he could be prosecuted and sent to gaol ? 
Had it not been perjury? From the very 
beginning he had determined that he would 
support his possession of the property by no 


criminal deed. He had not hidden the will in 
the book. He had not interfered in the search. 
He had done nothing incompatible with inno- 
cence. So it had been with him till he had 
been called upon, without a moment having 
been allowed to him for thinking, to sign his 
name to that declaration. The remembrance 
of this came to him as he almost made up his 
mind to rise from liis seat and pull the book 
down from the shelf. And then another 
thought occurred to him. Could he not tell 
Mr. GriflSth that he had discovered the docu- 
ment since he had made that declaration, — 
that he had discovered it only on that morn- 
ing ? But he had felt that a story such as 
that would receive no belief, and he had 
feared to estrange his only friend by a pal- 
pable lie. He had therefore said that there 
was no secret, — had said so after a pause which 
had assured Mr. Grifl&th of the existence of a 
mystery, — had said so with a face which of itself 
had declared the truth. 


When the farmer left him he knew well 
enough that the man doubted him^ — nay, that 
the man was assured of his guilt. It had 
come to be so with all whom he had encoun- 
tered since he had first reached Llanfeare. 
His uncle who had sent for him had turned 
from him ; his cousin had scorned him ; the 
tenants had refused to accept him when there 
certainly had been no cause for their rejection. 
Mr. Apjohn from the first had looked at him 
with accusing eyes; his servants were spies 
upon his actions ; this newspaper was rending 
his very vitals ; and now this one last friend 
had deserted him. He thought that if only 
he could summon courage for the deed, it 
would be best for him to throw himself from 
the rocks. 

But there was no such courage in him. The 
one idea remaining to him was to save him- 
self from the horrors of a criminal prosecution. 
If he did not himself touch the document, or 
give any sign of his consciousness of its pre- 


sence, they could not prove that he had known 
of its whereabouts. If they would only find 
it and let him go ! But they did not find it, 
and he could not put them on its trace. As 
to these wicked libels, Mr. Grifiith had asked 
him why he did not have recourse to a court of 
law, and refute them by the courage of his 
presence. He understood the proposition in 
all its force. Why did he not show himself 
able to bear any questions which the ingenuity 
of a lawyer could put to him ? Simply be- 
cause he was unable to bear them. The truth 
would be extracted from him in the process. 
Though he should have fortified himself with 
strongest resolves, he would be unable to hide 
his guilty knowledge. He knew that of him- 
self. He would be sure to give testimony 
against himself, on the strength of which he 
would be dragged from the witness-box to the 

He declared to himself that, let the news- 
paper say what it would, he would not of his 


own motion throw himself among the lion^s 
teeth which were prepared for him. But in so 
resolving he did not know what further external 
force might be applied to him. When the 
old tenant had sternly told him that he 
should go like a man into the witness-box and 
tell his own story on his oath, that had been 
hard to bear. But there came worse than 
that> — a power more difficult to resist. On 
the following morning Mr. Apjohn arrived 
at Llanfeare, having driven himself over from 
Carmarthen, and was at once shown into the 
book-room. The lawyer was a man who, by 
his friends and by his clients in general, was 
considered to be a pleasant fellow as well as a 
cautious man of business. He was good at a 
dinner-table, serviceable with a gun, and 
always happy on horseback. He could catch 
a fish, and was known to be partial to a 
rubber at whist. He certainly was not re- 
garded as a hard or cruel man. But Cousin 
Henry, in looking at him, had always seen a 


sternness in his eye^ some curve of a frown 
upon his brow, which had been uncomfort- 
able to him. From the beginning of their 
intercourse he had been afraid of the lawyer. 
He had felt that he was looked into and scru- 
tinized, and found to be wanting. Mr. Apjohn 
had, of course, been on Isabel^s side. All 
Carmarthenshire knew that he had done his 
best to induce the old squire to maintain 
Isabel as his heiress. Cousin Henry was well 
aware of that. But still why had this attor- 
ney always looked at him with accusing eyes ? 
When he had signed that declaration at Car- 
marthen, the attorney had shown by his face 
that he believed the declaration to be false. 
And now this man was there, and there was 
nothing for him but to endure his ques- 

" Mr. Jones,'' said the lawyer, '' I have 
thought it my duty to call upon you in re- 
spect to these articles in the Carmarthen 


'' I cannot help what the Carmarthen Herald 
may say/' 

''^But you. can^ Mr. Jones. That is just it. 
There are laws which enable a man to stop 
libels and to punish them if it be worth his 
while to do so.'' He paused a moment, but 
Cousin Henry was silent, and he continued, 
'^ For many years I was your uncle's lawyer, 
as was my father before me. I have 
never been commissioned by you to regard 
myself as your lawyer, but as circumstances 
are at present, I am obliged to occupy the 
place until you put your business into other 
hands. In such a position I feel it to be my 
duty to call upon you in reference to these 
articles. No doubt they are libellous." 

'^ They are very cruel j I know that," said 
Cousin Henry, whining. 

" All such accusations are cruel, if they be 

" These are false ; damnably false." 

" I take that for granted ; and therefore I 


have come to you to tell you that it is your 
duty to repudiate with all the strength of 
your own words the terrible charges which 
are brought against you/^ 

"Must I go and be a witness about my- 
self ?^^ 

'^ Yes j it is exactly that. You must go and 
be a witness about yourself. Who else can 
tell the truth as to all the matters in question 
as well as yourself? You should understand, 
Mr. Jones, that you should not take this 
step with the view of punishing the news- 

" Why, then ? '' 

" In order that you may show yourself will- 
ing to place yourself there to be questioned. 
' Here I am,^ you would say. ' If there be any 
point in which you wish me to be examined 
as to this property and this will, here I am to 
answer you.' It is that you may show that 
you are not afraid of investigation. '^ But it 
was exactly this of which Cousin Henry was 


afraid. " You cannot but be aware of wliat 
is going on in Carmartben." 

" I know about the newspaper/' 

'^It is my duty not to blink tbe matter. 
Every one, not only in the town but through- 
out the country, is expressing an opinion that 
right has not been done/' 

'^ What do they want ? I ^annot help it if 
my uncle did not make a will according to 
their liking.'' 

^' They think that he did make a will ac- 
cording to their liking, and that there has 
been foul play." 

'* Do they accuse me ? " 

" Practically they do. These articles in the 
paper are only an echo of the public voice. 
And that voice is becoming stronger and 
stronger every day because you take no steps 
to silence it. Have you seen yesterday's 
paper ? " 

'' Yes ; I saw it," said Cousin Henry, gasp- 
ing for breath. 


Then Mr. Apjolin brought a copy of the 
newspaper out of his pocket, and began to 
read a list of questions which the editor was 
supposed to ask the public generally. Each 
question was an insult, and Cousin Henry, 
had he dared, would have bade the reader 
desist, and have turned him out of the room 
for his insolence in reading them. 

" Has Mr. Henry Jones expressed an 
opinion of his own as to what became of 
the will which the Messrs. Cantor wit- 
nessed ? " 

^' Has Mr. Henry Jones consulted any 
friend, legal or otherwise, as to his tenure of 
the Llanfeare estate ? ^' 

" Has Mr. Henry Jones any friend to whom 
he can speak in Carmarthenshire ?'' 

" Has Mr. Henry Jones inquired into the 
cause di his own isolation ? ^' 

'^ Has Mr. Henry Jones any idea why we 
persecute him in every fresh issue of our news- 
paper ? '' 


" Has Mr. Henry Jones thouglit of what may 
possibly be the end of all this ? " 

"Has Mr. Henry Jones any thought of 
prosecuting us for libel ? '^ 

^^ Has Mr. Henry Jones heard of any other 
case in which an heir has been made so little 
welcome to his property ? " 

So the questions went on, an almost endless 
list, and the lawyer read them one after 
another, in a low, plain voice, slowly, but 
with clear accentuation, so that every point 
intended by the questioner might be under- 
stood. .Such a martyrdom surely no man was 
ever doomed to bear before. In every line he 
was described as a thief. Yet he bore it ; and 
when the lawyer came to an end of the abomi- 
nable questions, he sat silent, trying to smile. 
What was he to say ? 

" Do you mean to put up with that ? '' asked 
Mr. Apjohn, with that curve of his eyebrow of 
which Cousin Henry was so much afraid. 

'' What am I to do ? '' 


" Do ! ■ Do anything rather than sit in 
silence and bear such injurious insult as that. 
Were there nothing else to do, I would tear 
the man^s tongue from his mouth, — or at least 
his pen from his grasp.'' 

" How am I to find him ? I never did do 
anything of that rough kind/' 

'^ It is not necessary. I only say what a 
man would do if there were nothing else to 
be done. But the step to be taken is easy. 
Instruct me to go before the magistrates at 
Carmarthen, ^nd indict the paper for libel. 
That is what you must do." 

There was an imperiousness in the lawyer's 
tone which was almost irresistible. Neverthe- 
less Cousin Henry made a faint effort at re- 
sisting. '^1 should be dragged into a law- 

" A. lawsuit ! Of course you would. What 
lawsuit would not be preferable to that ? You 
must do as I bid you, or you must consent to 
have it said and have it thought by all the 


country tliat you liave been guilty of some 
felony^ and have filclied your cousin's pro- 

" I have committed nothing/' said the 
poor wretch, as the tears ran down his 

" Then go and say so before the world/* said 
the attorney, dashing his fist down violently 
upon the table. " Gro and say so, and let men 
hear you, instead of sitting here whining like 
a woman. Like a woman ! What honest 
woman would ever bear such insult ? If you 
do not, you will convince all the world, you 
will convince me and every neighbour you 
have, that you have done something to make 
away with that will. In that case we will not 
leave a stone unturned to discover the truth. 
The editor of that paper is laying himself 
open purposely to an action in order that he 
may force you to undergo the cross-question- 
ing of a barrister, and everybody who hears of 
it says that he is right. You can prove that 



he is wrong only by accepting tlie challenge. 
If you refuse the challenge, as I put it to you 
now, you will acknowledge that — that you have 
done this deed of darkness ! '^ 

Was there any torment ever so cruel, ever 
so unjustifiable as this ! He was asked to put 
himself, by his own act, into the thumbscrew, 
on the rack, in order that the executioner 
might twist his limbs and tear out his vitals ! 
He was to walk into a court of his own accord 
that he might be worried like a rat by a ter- 
rier, that he might be torn by the practised 
skill of a professional tormentor, that he might 
be forced to give up the very secrets of his 
soul in his impotence ; — or else to live amidst 
the obloquy of all men. He asked himself 
whether he had deserved it, and in that 
moment of time he assured himself that he 
had not deserved such punishment as this. If 
not altogether innocent, if not white as snow, 
he had done nothing worthy of such cruel 



" Well/^ said Mr. Apjohn, as thougli de- 
manding a final answer to his proposition. 

'^I will think of it/' gasped Cousin 

'^ There must be no more thinking. The 
time has gone by for thinking. If you will 
give me your instructions to commence pro- 
ceedings against the Carmarthen Herald, I 
will act as your lawyer. If not, I shall make 
it known to the town that I have made this 
proposition to you; and I shall also make 
known the way in which it has been accepted. 
There has been more than delay enough.'^ 

He sobbed, and gasped, and struggled with 
himself as the lawyer sat and looked at him. 
The one thing on which he had been intent 
was the avoiding of a court of law. And to 
this he was now to bring himself by his own 

'^When would it have to be?'' he 

" I should go before the magistrates to- 


morrow. Your presence would not be wanted 
then. No delay would be made by the other 
side. They would be ready enough to come 
to trial. The assizes begin here at Carmar- 
then on the 29th of next month. You 
might probably be examined on that day, 
which will be a Friday, or on the Saturday 
following. You will be called as a witness on 
your own side to prove the libel. But the 
questions asked by your own counsel would 
amount to nothing.'^ 

" Nothing ! ^^ exclaimed Cousin Henry. 

'^ You would be there for another purpose/^ 
continued the lawyer. " When that nothing 
had been asked, you would be handed over to 
the other side, in order that the object of the 
proceedings might be attained.'^ 

'^ What object ?'' 

^^ How the barrister employed might put it 
I cannot say, but he would examine you as to 
any knowledge you may have as to that 
missing will.^^ 

D 2 


Mr. Apjohn, as lie said this, paused for a 
full minute, looking liis client full in tlie face. 
It was as thougli he himself were carrying 
on a cross-examination. ^' He would ask 
you whether you have such knowledge.'' 
Then again he paused, but Cousin Henry 
said nothing. '^ If you have no such knowledge, 
if you have no sin in that matter on your con- 
science, nothing to make you grow pale before 
the eyes of a judge, nothing to make you fear 
the verdict of a jury, no fault heavy on your 
own soul, — then you may answer him with 
frank courage, then you may look him in the 
face, and tell him with a clear voice that as far 
as you are aware your property is your own by 
as fair a title as any in the country.'' 

In every word of this there had been con- 
demnation. It was as though Mr. Apjohn 
were devoting him to infernal torture, telling 
him that his only escape would be by the exer- 
cise of some herculean power which was noto- 
riously beyond his reach. It was evident to 


him that Mr. Apjohn was alluring him on with 
the object of ensuring, not his escape, but 
most calamitous defeat. Mr. Apjohn had come 
there under the guise of his adviser and friend, 
but was in fact leagued with all the others 
around him to drive him to his ruin. Of that 
he felt quite sure. The voice, the eyes, the 
face, every gesture of his unwelcome visitor 
had told him that it was so. And yet he could 
not rise in indignation and expel the visitor 
from his house. There was a cruelty, an in- 
humanity, in this which to his thinking was 
infinitely worse than any guilt of his own. 
'' Well ? '' said Mr. Apjohn. 
'^ I suppose it must be so.^' 
'^ I have your instructions, then ? " 
'' Don't you hear me say that I suppose it 
must be so.'' 

" Very well. The matter shall be brought 
in proper course before, the magistrates to- 
morrow, and if, as I do not doubt, an injunc- 
tion be granted, I will proceed with the matter 


at once. I will tell you whom we select as our 
counsel at the assizes, and, as soon as I have 
learnt, will let you know whom they employ. 
Let me only implore you not only to tell the 
truth as to what you know, but to tell all the 
truth. If you attempt to conceal anything, it 
will certainly be dragged out of you.^' 

Having thus comforted his client, Mr. 
Apjohn took his leave. 




When Mr. Apjohn had gone, Cousin Henry 
sat for an hour, not thinking, — men so afflicted 
have generally lost the power to think, — but 
paralyzed by the weight of his sorrow, simply 
repeating to himself assertions that said no 
man had ever been used so cruelly. Had he 
been as other men are, he would have turned 
that lawyer out of the house at the first ex- 
pression of an injurious suspicion, but his 
strength had not sufficed for such action. He 
confessed to himself his own weakness, though 
he could not bring himself to confess his own 
guilt. Why did they not find it and have 
done with it ? Feeling at last how incapable 


he was of collecting his thouglits while he sat 
there in the book-room^ and aware^ at the same 
time, that he must determine on some course 
of action, he took his hat and strolled out 
towards the cliffs. 

There was a month remaining to him, just a 
month before the day named on which he was 
to put himself into the witness-box. That, at 
any rate, must be avoided. He did after some 
fashion resolve that, let the result be what it 
might, he would not submit himself to a cross- 
examination. They could not drag him from 
his bed were he to say that he was ill. They 
could not send policemen to find him, were he 
to hide himself in London. Unless he gave 
evidence against himself as to his own guilty 
knowledge, they could bring no open charge 
against him ; or if he could but summon cou- 
rage to throw himself from off the rocks, then, 
at any rate, he would escape from their 

What was it all about ? This he asked him- 


self as he sat some way down tlie cliff, looking 
out over the sea. What was it all about ? If 
they wanted the property for his Cousin Isabel, 
they were welcome to take it. He desired 
nothing but to be allowed to get away from 
this accursed country, to escape, and never 
more to be heard of there or to hear of it. 
Could he not give up the property with the 
signing of some sufficient deed, and thus put 
an end to their cruel clamour ? He could do 
it all without any signing, by a simple act of 
honesty, by taking down the book with the 
will and giving it at once to the lawyer ! It 
was possible,— possible as far as the know- 
ledge of any one but himself was concerned, — 
that such a thing might be done not only with 
honesty, but with high-minded magnanimity. 
How would it be if in truth the document were 
first found by him on this very day ? Had it 
been so, were it so, then his conduct would be 
honest. And it was still open to him to simu- 
late that it was so. He had taken down the 


book, let him say, for spiritual comfort in his 
great trouble, and lo, the will had been 
found there between the leaves ! No one 
would believe him. He declared to himself 
that such was already his character in the 
county that no one would believe him. But 
what though they disbelieved him ? Surely 
they would accept restitution without further 
reproach. Then there would be no witness-box, 
no savage terrier of a barrister to tear him in 
pieces with his fierce words and fiercer eyes. 
Whether they believed him or not, they would 
let him go. It would be told of him, at any 
rate, that having the will in his hands, he had 
not destroyed it. Up in London, where men 
would not know all the details of this 
last miserable month, some good would be 
spoken of him. And then there would be 
time left to him to relieve his conscience by 

But to whom should he deliver up the will, 
and how should he frame the words ? He was 


conscious of his own impotence in deceit. For 
sucli a purpose Mr. Apjohn, no doubt^ would 
be the proper person, but there was no one 
of whom he stood so much in dread as of Mr. 
Apjohn. Were he to carry the book " and the 
paper to the lawyer and attempt to tell his 
story, the real truth would be drawn out from 
him in the first minute of their interview. 
The man^s eyes looking at him, the man^s 
brow bent against him, would extract from 
him Instantly the one truth which it was his 
purpose to hold within his own keeping. He 
would find no thankfulness, no mercy, not 
even justice in the lawyer. The lawyer would 
accept restitution, and would crush him after- 
wards. Would it not be better to go off to 
Hereford, without saying a word to any one in 
Carmarthenshire, and give up the deed to his 
Cousin Isabel? But then she had scorned 
him. She had treated him with foul contempt. 
As he feared Mr. Apjohn, so did he hate his 
Cousin Isabel. The only approach to manli- 


less left in his bosom was a true hatred of his 

The single voice which had been kind to 
him since he had come to this horrid place 
had been that of old Farmer Griffith. Even 
his voice had been stern at lastj but yet, with 
the sternness, there had been something of 
compassion. He thought that he could tell the 
tale to Mr. Griffith, if to any one. And so 
thinking, he resolved at once to go to Coed. 
There was still before him that other means of 
escape which the rocks and the sea afforded 
him. As he had made his way on this morn- 
ing to the spot on which he was now lying 
that idea was still present to him. He did not 
think that he could do a deed of such daring. 
He was almost sure of himself that the power 
of doing it would be utterly wanting when the 
moment came. But still it was present to his 
mind. The courage might reach him at the 
instant. Were a sudden impulse to carry him 
away, he thought the Lord would surely for- 


give him because of all his sufferings. But 
now, as he looked at the spot^ and saw that he 
could throw himself only among the rocks, 
that he could not reach the placid deep water, 
he considered it again, and remembered that 
the Lord would not forgive him a sin as to 
which there would be no moment for repentance. 
As he could not escape in that way, he must 
carry out his purpose with Farmer Griffith. 

^^ So you be here again prowling about on 
father^s lands ? " 

Cousin Henry knew at once the voice of 
that bitter enemy of his, young Cantor ; and, 
wretched as he was, he felt also something of 
the spirit of the landlord in being thus rebuked 
for trespassing on his own ground. '' I sup- 
pose I have a right to walk about on my own 
estate ? '^ said he. 

" I know nothing about your own estate,^' 
replied the farmer^s son. ^^ I say nothin' about 
that. They do be talking about it, but I say 
nothin\ I has my own opinions, but I 


say notliin\ Others do be saying a great deal, 
as I suppose you hear, Mr. Jones, but I say 

" How dare you be so impudent to your 
landlord ? '' 

^^ I know nothin' about landlords. I know 
father has a lease of this land, and pays his 
rent, whether you get it or another ; and you 
have no more right, it's my belief, to intrude 
here nor any other stranger. So, if you please, 
you'll walk/' 

" I shall stay here just as long as it suits 
me," said Cousin Henry. 

" Oh, very well. Then father will have his 
action against you for trespass, and so you'll 
be brought into a court of law. You are 
bound to go off when you are warned. You 
ain't no right here because you call yourself 
landlord. You come up here and I'll thrash 
you, that's what I will. You wouldn't dare 
show yourself before a magistrate, that's what 
you wouldn't." 


The young man stood there for a while wait- 
ings and then walked off with a loud laugh. 

Any one might insult him, any one might 
beat him, and he could seek for no redress 
because he would not dare to submit himself 
to the ordeal of a witness-box. All those 
around him knew that it was so. He was 
beyond the protection of the law because of 
the misery of his position. It was clear that 
he must do something, and as he could not 
drown himself, there was nothing better than 
that telling of his tale to Mr. Griffith. He 
would go to Mr. Griffith at once. He had not 
the book and the document with him, but per- 
haps he could tell the tale better without their 
immediate presence. 

At Coed he found the farmer in his own 

" I have come to you in great touble,''^ said 
Cousin Henry, beginning his story. 

''Well, squire, what is it?'' Then the 
farmer seated himself on a low, movable bar 


wliicli protected tlie entrance into an open barn, 
and Cousin Henrj sat beside bim. 

^^That young man Cantor insulted me 
grossly just now/' 

'^ He shouldn't have done that. Whatever 
comes of it all, he shouldn't have done that. 
He was always a forward young puppy." 

'^ I do think I have been treated very badly 
among you." 

^^As to that, Mr. Jones, opinion does run 
very high about the squire's will. I explained 
to you all that when I was with you yester- 

"Something has occurred since that, — 
something that I was coming on purpose to 
tell you." 

'' What has occurred ? " Cousin Henry 
groaned terribly as the moment for revelation 
came upon him. And he felt that he had 
made the moment altogether unfit for revela- 
tion by that ill-judged observation as to 
young Cantor, He should have rushed at his 


story at once. '' Oh, Mr. Griffith, I have 
found the will \'' It should have been told 
after that fashion. He felt it now, — felt that 
he had allowed the opportunity to slip by him. 

" What is it that has occurred, Mr. Jones, 
since I was up at Llanfeare yesterday ? " 

'• I don^t think that I could tell you here.''^ 

'' Where, then ? '' 

" Nor yet to-day. That young man. 
Cantor, has so put me out that I hardly know 
what I am saying.**^ 

" Couldn't you speak it out, sir, if it's just 
something to be said ? '' 

^^It's something to be shown too,'' replied 
Cousin Henry, ''^and if you wouldn't mind 
coming up to the house to-morrow, or next 
day, then I could explain it all." 

" To-morrow it shall be," said the farmer. 
^^ On the day after I shall be in Carmarthen to 
market. If eleven o'clock to-morrow morning 
won't be too early, I shall be there, sir.'^ 

One, or three, or five o'clock would have 

VOL. II. s 


been better, or the day following better still, 
so that the evil hour might have been post- 
poned. But Cousin Henry assented to the 
proposition and took his departure. Now he 
had committed himself to some revelation, and 
the revelation must be made. He felt acutely 
the folly of his own conduct during the last 
quarter of an hour. If it might have been 
possible to make the old man believe that the 
document had only been that morning found, 
such belief could only have been achieved by an 
impulsive telling of the story. He was aware 
that at every step he took he created fresh diffi- 
culties by his own folly and want of foresight. 
How could he now act the sudden emotion of 
a man startled by surprise ? Nevertheless, he 
must go on with his scheme. There was now 
nothing before him but his scheme. The 
farmer would not believe him; but still he 
might be able to achieve that purpose which 
he had in view of escaping from Llanfeare and 


He sat up late that night thinking of it. 
For many days past he had not touched 
the volume, or allowed his eye to rest upon 
the document. He had declared to himself 
that it might remain there or be taken away, 
as it might chance to others. It should no 
longer be anything to him. For aught that 
he knew, it might already have been removed. 
Such had been his resolution during the last 
fortnight, and in accordance with that he had 
acted. But now his purpose was again 
changed. Now he intended to reveal the will 
with his own hands, and it might be well that 
he should see that it was there. 

He took down the book, and there it was. 
He opened it out, and carefully read through 
every word of its complicated details. For it 
had been arranged and drawn out in a lawyer^s 
office, with all the legal want of punctuation 
and unintelligible phraseology. It had been 
copied verbatim by the old Squire, and was 
no doubt a properly binding and effective will. 
£ 2 


Never before had he dwelt over ifc so tediously. 
He had feared lesi a finger-mark, a blot, or a 
spark might betray his acquaintance with the 
deed. But now he was about to give it up 
and let all the world know that it had been 
in his hands. He felt, therefore, that he was 
entitled to read it, and that there was no 
longer ground to fear any accident. Though 
the women in the house should see him read- 
ing it, what matter ? 

Thrice he read it, sitting there late into 
the night. Thrice he read the deed which had 
been prepared with such devilish industry to 
rob him of the estate which had been promised 
him ! If he had been wicked to conceal it, — 
no, not to conceal it, but only to be silent as to 
its whereabouts, — how much greater had been 
the sin of that dying old man who had taken so 
much trouble in robbing him ? Now that the 
time had come, almost the hour in which he 
was about to surrender the property which he 
had lately so truly loathed, there came again 


upon him a love of money,, a feeling of the 
privilege which attached to him as an owner 
of broad acres, and a sudden remembrance 
that with a little courage, with a little perse- 
verance, with a little power of endurance, he 
might live down the evils of the present day. 
When he thought of what it might be to be 
Squire of Llanfeare in perhaps five years time, 
with the rents in his pocket, he became angry 
at his own feebleness. Let them ask him 
what questions they would, there could be no 
evidence against him. If he were to burn the 
will, there could certainly bono evidence against 
him. If the will were still hidden, they might, 
perhaps, extract that secret from him; but 
no lawyer would be strong enough to make 
him own that he had thrust the paper between 
the bars of the fire. 

He sat looking at it, gnashing his teeth 
together, and clenching his fists. If only he 
dared to do it ! If only he could do it ! He did 
during a moment, make up his mind ; but had 


no sooner done so tlian there rose clearly 
before his mind's eye the judge and the jury, 
the paraphernalia of the court, and all the long 
horrors of a prison life. Even now those 
prying women might have their eyes turned 
upon what he was doing. And should there 
be no women prying, no trial, no conviction, 
still there would be the damning guilt on his 
own soul, — a guilt which w^ould admit of no 
repentance except by giving himself up to the 
hands of the law ! No sooner had he resolved 
to destroy the will than he was unable to 
destroy it. No sooner had he felt his inability 
than again he longed to do the deed. When 
at three o^clock he dragged himself up 
wearily to his bed, the will was again within 
the sermon, ar.d the book was at rest upon its 
old ground. 

Punctually &t eleven Mr. Griffith was with 
him, and it was evident from his manner that 
he had thought the matter over, and was 
determined to be kind and gracious^ 


" Now, squire/* said lie^ '' let us hear it ; 
and I do hope it raay be something that may 
make your mind quiet at last. YouVe had, I 
fear, a bad time of it since the old squire 

" Indeed I have, Mr. Griffith.^' 

" What is it now ? Whatever it be, you 
may be sure of this, I will take it charitable 
like. I won't take nothing amiss ; and if so be 
I can help you, I will.'' 

Cousin Henry, as the door had been opened, 
and as the man's footstep had been heard, had 
made up his mind that on this occasion he 
could not reveal the secret. He had disabled 
himself by that unfortunate manner of his 
yesterday. He would not even turn his eyes 
upon the book, but sat looking into the empty 
grate. '' What is it, Mr. Jones ? " asked the 

^' My uncle did make a will," said Cousin 
Henry feebly. 

" Of course he made a will. He made a 


many, — one or two more than was wise, I am 

" He made a will after the last one/"* 

"After that in your favour ? " 

'^ Yes j after that. I know that he did, by 
what I saw him doing ; and so I thought Fd 
tell you.'' 

" Is that all.'' 

" I thought I'd let you know that I was 
sure of it. What became of it after it was 
made, that, you know, is quite another ques- 
tion. I do think it must be in the house, and 
if so, search ought to be made. If they be- 
lieve there is such a will, why don't they come 
and search more regularly ? I shouldn't 
hinder them." 

" Is that all you've got to say ? " 

^^ As I h^ve been thinking about it so much 
and as you are so kind to me, I thought I had 
better tell you." 

"But there was something you were to 
show me." 


'' Oh_, yes ; I did say so. If you will come 
upstairs, 1^11 point out the very spot where the 
old man sat when he was writing it/' 
^' There is nothing more than that ? '^ 
" Nothing more than that, Mr. Griffith/' 
"Then good morning, Mr. Jones. I am 
afraid we have not got to the end of the 
matter yet.'' 




Some of the people at Carmartlien were taking 
a great deal of trouble about tbe matter. One 
copy of tbe Herald was sent regularly to Mr. 
Brodrick, another to Isabel, and another to 
Mr. Owen. It was determined that they should 
not be kept in ignorance of what was being 
done. In the first number issued after Mr. Ap- 
john's last visit to Llanfeare there was a short 
leading article recapitulating all that was 
hitherto know of the story. " Mr. Henry 
Jones/^ said the article in its last paragraph, 
'* has at length been induced to threaten an 
action for libel against this newspaper. We 
doubt much whether he will have the courage 


to go on with it. But if lie does, lie will 
have to put himself into a witness-box, and 
then probably we may learn something of the 
truth as to the last will and testament made 
by Mr. Indefer Jones. ^^ All this reached 
Hereford, and was of course deeply considered 
there by persons whom it concerned. 

Mr. Owen, for some days after the scene 
which has been described between him and 
Isabel, saw her frequently, and generally found 
means to be alone with her for some moments. 
She made no effort to avoid him, and would 
fain have been allowed to treat him simply as 
her dearest friend. But in all these moments 
he treated her as though she were engaged to 
be his wife. There was no embracing, no kiss. 
Isabel would not permit it. But in all terms 
of affectionate expression he spoke of her and 
to her as though she were his own ; and would 
only gently laugh at her when she assured him 
that it could never be so. 

'^Of course you can torment me a little,-" 


he said, smiling, ^^but the forces arrayed 
against you are too strong, and you have 
not a chance on your side. It would be 
monstrous to suppose that you should go on 
making me miserable for ever, — and yourself 

In answer to this she could only say that she 
cared but little for her own misery, and did 
not believe in his. ^^The question is," she 
said, ^^ whether it be fitting. As I feel 
that it is not fitting, I certainly shall not do it.'' 
In answer to this he would again smile, and 
tell her that a month or two at furthest would 
see her absolutely conquered. 

Then the newspapers reached them. When 
it became clear to him that there existed in 
Carmarthenshire so strong a doubt as to the 
validity of the will under which the property 
was at present held, then Mr. Owen's visits to 
the house became rarer and diiferent in their 
nature. Then he was willing to be simply the 
friend of the family, and as such he sought no 


especial interviews with Isabel. Between him 
and Isabel no word was spoken as to the con- 
tents of the newspaper. But between Mr. 
Brodrick and the clergyman many words were 
spoken. Mr. Brodrick declared at once to 
his intended son-in-law his belief in the accu- 
sations which were implied, — which were im- 
plied at first, but afterwards made in terms so 
frightfully clear. When such words as those 
were said and printed there could, he urged, 
be no doubt as to what was believed in Car- 
marthen. And why should it be believed 
without ground that any man had done so 
hideous a deed as to destroy a will? The 
lawyer's hair stood almost on end as he spoke 
of the atrocity ; but yet he believed it. Would 
a respectable newspaper such as the Carmar- 
then Herald commit itself to such a course 
without the strongest assurance ? What was it 
to the Carmarthen Herald ? Did not the very 
continuance of the articles make it clear that 
the readers of the paper were in accordance 


with the writer? Would the public of Car- 
marthen sympathize in such an attack without 
the strongest ground ? He, the attorney, fully 
believed in Cousin Henry's guilt ; but he was 
not on that account sanguine as to the proof. 
If, during his sojourn at Llanfeare, either 
immediately before the old squire's death or 
after it, but before the funeral, he had been 
enabled to lay his hand upon the will and 
destroy it, what hope would there be of evi- 
dence of such guilt ? As to that idea of forcing 
the man to tell such a tale against himself 
by the torment of cross-examination, he did 
not believe it at all. A man who had been 
strong enough to destroy a will would be too 
strong for that. Perhaps he thought that any 
man would be too strong, not having known 
Cousin Henry. Among all the possible chances 
which occurred to his mind, — and his mind at 
this time was greatly filled with such con- 
siderations, — nothing like the truth suggested 
itself to him. His heart was tormented by 


the idea that the property had been stolen 
from his child, that the glory of being father- 
in-law to Llanfeare had been filched from him- 
self, and that no hope for redress remained. 
He sympathized altogether with the news- 
paper. He felt grateful to the newspaper. 
He declared the editor to be a man specially 
noble and brave in his calling. But he did 
not believe that the newspaper would do any 
good either to him or to Isabel. 

Mr. Owen doubted altogether the righteous- 
ness of the proceeding as regarded the news- 
paper. As far as he could see there was no 
evidence against Cousin Henry. There seemed 
to him to be an injustice in accusing a man of 
a great crime, simply because the crime might 
have been possible, and would, if committed, 
have been beneficial to the criminal. That 
plan of frightening the man into self-accusa- 
tion by the terrors of cross-examination was 
distasteful to him. He would not sympathize 
with the newspaper. But still he found him- 


self compelled to retreat from that aflfectation 
of certainty in regard to Isabel wMcli lie had 
assumed when he knew only that the will had 
been proved, and that Cousin Henry was in 
possession of the property. He had regarded 
Isabel and the property as altogether separated 
from each other. Now he learned that such 
was not the general opinion in Carmarthen- 
shire. It was not his desire to push forward 
his suit with the heiress of Llanfeare. He 
had been rejected on what he had acknow- 
ledged to be fitting grounds while that had 
been her position. When the matter had been 
altogether settled in Cousin Henry's favour, 
then he could come forward again. 

Isabel was quite sure that the newspaper 
was right. Did she not remember the dying 
words with which her uncle had told her that he 
had again made her his heir ? And had she not 
always clearly in her mind the hang-dog look 
of that wretched man? She was strong-minded, 
— but yet a woman, with a woman's propensity 


to follow her feelings rather than either facts or 
reason. Her lover had told her that her uncle 
had been very feeble when those words had 
been spoken, with his mind probably vague 
and his thoughts wandering. It had, perhaps, 
been but a dream. Such words did not 
suffice as evidence on which to believe a man 
guilty of so great a crime. She knew, — so she 
declared to herself, — that the old man's words 
had not been vague. And as to those hang- 
dog looks, — her lover had told her that she 
should not allow a man's countenance to go so 
far in evidence as that ! In so judging she 
would trust much too far to her own power 
of discernment. She would not contradict 
him, but she felt sure of her discernment in 
that respect. She did not in the least doubt 
the truth of the evidence conveyed by the 
man's hang-dog face. 

She had sworn to herself a thousand times 
that she would not covet the house and 
property. When her uncle had first declared 



to her his purpose of disinheriting her, she 
had been quite sure of herself that her love 
for him should not be aflPected by the change. 
It had been her pride to think that she could 
soar above any consideration of money and be 
sure of her own nobility, even though she 
should be stricken with absolute poverty. But 
now she was tempted to long that the news- 
paper might be found to be right. Was there 
any man so fitted to be exalted in the world, 
so sure to fill a high place with honour, as her 
lover ? Though she might not want Llanfeare 
for herself, was she not bound to want it for 
his sake ? He had told her how certain he was 
of her heart, — ^how sure he was that sooner or 
later he would win her hand. She had almost 
begun to think that it must be so, — that her 
strength would not suffice for her to hold to 
her purpose. But how sweet would be her 
triumph if she could tm'n to him and tell him 
that now the hour had come in which she 
would be proud to become his wife ! '^ I love 


you well endugli to rejoice in giving you some- 
thing, but too well to liave been a burden on 
you when I could give you nothing/' That 
would be sweet to her ! Then there should be 
kisses ! As for Cousin Henry, there was not 
even pity in her heart towards him. It would 
be time to pity him when he should have been 
made to give up the fruits of his wickedness 
and to confess his faults. 

Mrs. Brodrick was not made to understand 
the newspapers, nor did she care much about 
the work which they had taken in hand. If 
Isabel could be made to accept that smaller 
legacy, so that Mr. Owen might marry her out 
of hand and take her away, that would be 
enough to satisfy Mrs. Brodrick. If Isabel 
were settled somewhere with Mr. Owen, their 
joint means being suiEficient to make it certain 
that no calls would be made on" the paternal 
resources, that would satisfy Mrs. Brodrick's 
craving in regard to the Welsh property. 
She was not sure that she was anxious to see 
F 2 

68 cousm HENRr. 

the half-sister of her own children altogether 
removed from their sphere and exalted so high. 
And then this smaller stroke of good fortune 
might be so much more easily made certain ! 
A single word from Isabel herself, a word 
which any girl less endowed with wicked 
obstinacy would have spoken at once, would 
make that sure and immediate. Whereas this 
great inheritance which was to depend upon 
some almost impossible confession of the man 
who enjoyed it, seemed to her to be as distant 
as ever. 

*'^ Bother the newspapers,*^ she said to her 
eldest daughter ; ^' why doesn't she write and 
sign the receipt, and take her income like 
any one else ? She was getting new boots at 
Jackson's yesterday, and where is the money 
to come from? If any of you want new 
boots, papa is sure to tell me of it ! 'V 

Her spirit was embittered too by the seve- 
rity of certain words which her husband had 
spoken to her. Isabel had appealed to her 


father when her step-mother had reproached 
her with being a burden in the house. 

" Papa," she had said, '' let me leave the 
house and earn something. I can at any rate 
earn my bread /^ 

Then Mr. Brodrick had been very angry. 
He too had wished to accelerate the mar- 
riage between his daughter and her lover, 
thinking that she would surely accept the 
money on her lover's behalf. He too had 
been annoyed at the persistency of her double 
refusal. But it had been very far from his 
purpose to drive his girl from his house, or to 
subject her to the misery of such reproaches 
as his wife had cast upon her. 

" My dear/' he had said, " there is no ne- 
cessity for anything of the kind. I and your 
mother are only anxious for your welfare. I 
think that you should take your uncle's money, 
if not for your own sake, then for the sake of 
him to whom we all hope that you will soon 
be married. But putting that aside, you are 


as well entitled to remain here as your sisters, 
and, until you are married, here will be your 

There was comfort in this, some small com- 
fort, but it did not tend to create pleasant in- 
tercourse between Isabel and her step-mother. 
Mrs. Brodrick was a woman who submitted 
herself habitually to her husband, and intended 
to obey him, but one who nevertheless would 
not be deterred from her own little purposes. 
She felt herself to be ill-used by Isabel's pre- 
sence in the house. Many years ago Isabel 
had been taken away, and she had been given 
to understand that Isabel was removed for 
ever. There was to be no more expense, no 
more trouble, — there should be no more 
jealousies in regard to Isabel. The old uncle 
had promised to do everything, and that sore 
had been removed from her life. Now Isabel 
had come back again, and insisted on remain- 
ing there, — so unnecessarily ! Now" again there 
were those boots to be bought at Jackson's, 


and all those other increased expenditures 
which another back, another head, another 
mouth, and another pair of feet must create. 
And then it was so palpable that Hereford 
thought much of Isabel, but thought little or 
nothing of her own girls. Such a one as Mrs. 
Brodrick was sure to make herself unpleasant 
in circumstances such as these, 

" Isabel,'^ she said to her one day, " I didn't 
say anything about you being turned out of 
the house." 

^^ Who has said that you did, mother ? ^' 

" You shouldn't have gone to your father 
and talked about going out as a housemaid/' 

^^ I told papa that if he thought it right, I 
would endeavour to earn my bread.'' 

'^ You told him that I had complained about 
you being here." 

*' So you did. I had to tell him so, or I 
could not explain my purpose. Of course I 
am a burden. Every human being who eats 
and wears clothes and earns nothing is a bur- 


den. And I know that this is thought of the 
more because it had been felt that I had been 
T— been disposed oV 

'' You could be disposed of now, as you call 
it, if you pleased/' 

'' But I do not please. That is a matter on 
which I will listen to no dictation. Therefore 
it is that I wish that I could go away and 
earn my own bread. I choose to be indepen- 
dent in that matter, and therefore I ought to 
suffer for it. It is reasonable enough that I 
should be felt to be a burden.*' 

Then the other girls came in, and nothing 
more was said till, after an hour or two, Mrs. 
Brodrick and Isabel were again alone together. 

" I do think it very odd that you cannot 
take that money ; I certainly do,'' said Mrs. 

" What is the use of going on about it ? I 
shall not be made to take it." 

'^ And all those people at Carmarthen so 
sure that you are entitled to ever so much 


more ! I say nothing about burdens, but I 
cannot conceive bow you can reconcile it to 
your conscience when your poor papa has got 
so many things to pay, and is so little able to 
pay them/' 

Then she paused, but as Isabel would not be 
enticed into any further declaration of inde- 
pendence, she continued, "It certainly is a 
setting up of your own judgment against 
people who must know better. As for Mr. 
Owen, of course it will drive him to look 
for some one else. The young man wants 
a wife, and of course he will find one. Then 
that chance will be lost." 

In this way Isabel did not pass her time 
comfortably at Hereford. 




A MONTH had been left for Cousin Henry to 
consider what he would do, — a month from the 
day in which he had been forced to accede 
to Mr. Apjohn's proposal up to that on which 
he would have to stand before the barrister at 
Carmarthen, should he be brave enough at 
last to undergo the ordeal. He had in truth 
resolved that he would not undergo the ordeal. 
He was quite sure of himself that nothing short 
of cart -ropes or of the police would drag him 
into the witness-box. But still there was the 
month. There were various thoughts filling his 
mind. A great expense was being incurred, 
— most uselessly, if he intended to retreat 


before the day came^ — and who would pay the 
money ? There was hardly a hope left in his 
bosom that the property would remain in his 
hands. His hopes indeed now ran in alto- 
gether another direction. In what way might 
he best get rid of the property ? How most 
readily might he take himself off from Llan- 
feare and have nothing more to do with the 
tenants and their rents ? But still it was he 
who would be responsible for this terrible 
expense. It had been explained to him by 
the lawyer^ that he might either indict the pro- 
prietor of the newspaper on a criminal charge or 
bring a civil action against him for damages. 
Mr. Apjohn had very strongly recommended the 
former proceeding. It would be cheaper^ he 
had said, and would show that the man who 
brought it had simply wished to vindicate his 
own character. It would be cheaper in the 
long-run, — because, as the lawyer explained, 
it would not be so much his object to get a 
verdict as to show by his presence in the court 


that he was afraid of no one. Were he to sue 
for damages, and, as was probable, not to get 
them, he must then bear the double expense 
of the prosecution and defence. Such had 
been the arguments Mr. Apjohn had used; 
but he had considered also that if he could 
bind the man to prosecute the newspaper 
people on a criminal charge, then the poor 
victim would be less able to retreat. In such 
case as that, should the victim's couragfe fail 
him at the last moment, a policeman could be 
made to fetch him and force him into the wit- 
ness-box. But in the conduct of a civil action 
no such constraint could be put upon him. 
Knowing all this, Mr. Apjohn had eagerly ex- 
plained the superior attractions of a criminal 
prosecution, and Cousin Henry had fallen into 
the trap. He understood it all now, but had 
not been ready enough to do so when the 
choice had been within his power. He had 
now bound himself to prosecute, and certainly 
would be dragged into Carmarthen, unless he 


first made known the truth as to the will. If 
he did that, then he thought that thej would 
surely spare him the trial. Were he to say 
to them, ^' There ; I have at last myself found 
the will. Here, behold it ! Take the will and 
take Llanfeare, and let me escape from my 
misery," then surely they would not force him 
to appear in reference to a matter which would 
have been already decided in their own favour. 
He had lost that opportunity of giving up the 
will through Mr. Griffith, but he was still 
resolved that some other mode must be dis- 
covered before the month should have run by. 
Every day was of moment, and yet the days 
passed on and nothing was done. His last 
idea was to send the will to Mr. Apjohn with 
a letter, in which he would simply declare that 
he had just found it amongst the sermons, and 
that he was prepared to go away. But as the 
days flew by the letter was left unwritten, and 
the will was still among the sermons. 

It will be understood that all this was much 


talked of in Carmartlien. Mr. Henry Jones, 
of Llanfeare, was known to have indicted Mr, 
Gregory Evans, of the Carmartlien Herald, 
for the publication of various wicked and 
malicious libels against himself; and it was 
known also that Mr. Apjohn was Mr. Jones's 
attorney in carrying on the prosecution. But 
not the less was it understood that Mr. Apjohn 
and Mr. Evans were not hostile to each other 
in the matter. Mr. Apjohn would be quite 
honest in what he did. He would do his best 
to prove the libel, — on condition that his client 
were the honest owner of the property in 
question. In truth, however, the great object 
of them all was to get Henry Jones into a 
witness-box, so that, if possible, the very truth 
might be extracted from him. 

Day by day and week by week since the 
funeral the idea had grown and become strong 
in Carmarthen that some wicked deed had 
been done. It irked the hearts of them all 
that such a one as Henry Jones should do 


such a deed and not be discovered. Old 
Indefer Jones had been respected by his 
neighbours. Miss Brodrick, though not 
personally well known in the county^ had 
been spoken well of by all men. The idea 
that Llanfeare should belong to her had been 
received with favour. Then had come that 
altered intention in the old squire''s mind, 
and the neighbours had disapproved. Mr. 
Apjohn had disapproved very strongly, and 
though he was not without that reticence so 
essentially necessary to the character of an 
attorney, his opinion had become known. 
Then the squire^s return to his old purpose 
was whispered abroad. The Cantors had 
spoken very freely. Everything done and 
everything not done at Llanfeare was known 
in Carmarthen. Mr. Griffith had at length 
spoken, being the last to abandon all hope as 
to Cousin Henry's honesty. 

Every one was convinced that Cousin Henry 
had simply stolen the property ; and was it to 


be endured that such a deed as that should 
have been done by such a man and that Car- 
marthen should not find it out ? Mr. Apjohn 
was very much praised for his energy in hav- 
ing forced the man to take his action against 
Mr. Evans, and no one was more inclined to 
praise him than Mr. Evans himself. "Those 
who had seen the man did believe that the 
truth would be worked out of him ; and those 
who had only heard of him were sure that the 
trial would be a time of intense interest in the 
borough. The sale of the newspaper had 
risen immensely, and Mr. Evans was quite 
the leading man of the hour. 

^''So you are going to have Mr. Balsam 
against me ? '' said Mr. Evans to Mr. Apjohn 
one day. Now Mr. Balsam was a very 
respectable barrister, who for many years had 
gone the Welsh circuit, and was chiefly known 
for the mildness of his behaviour and an 
accurate knowledge of law, — two gifts hardly 
of much value to an advocate in an assize town. 


^^ Yes^ Mr. Evans. Mr. Balsam, I have no 
doubtj will do all that we want.^^ 

'^I suppose you want to get me into 
prison ? '' 

" Certainly, if it shall be proved that you 
have deserved it. The libels are so manifest 
that it will be only necessary to read them 
to a jury. Unless you can justify them, I 
think you will have to go to prison.^^ 

^' I suppose so. You will come and see me, 
I am quite sure, Mr. Apjohn.^^ 

"I suppose Mr. Cheekey will have some- 
thing to say on your behalf before it comes to 

Now Mr. John Cheekey was a gentleman 
about fifty years of age, who had lately risen 
to considerable eminence in our criminal courts 
of law. He was generally called in the pro- 
fession, — and perhaps sometimes outside it, — 
'' Supercilious Jack,'' from the manner he had 
of moving his eyebrows when he was desirous 
of intimidating a witness. He was a strong, 



young-lookingj and generally good-humoured 
Irishman, who had a thousand good points. 
Under no circumstances would he bully a 
woman, — nor would he bully a man, unless, 
according to his own mode of looking at such 
cases, the man wanted bullying. But when 
that time did come, — and a reference to the 
Old Bailey and assize reports in general would 
show that it came very often, — Supercilious 
Jack would make his teeth felt worse than any 
terrier. He could pause in his cross-examina- 
tion, look at a man, projecting his face forward 
by degrees as he did so, in a manner which 
would crush any false witness who was not 
armed with triple courage at his breast, — and, 
^/ alas ! not unfrequently a witness who was not 
false. For unfortunately, though Mr. Cheekey 
intended to confine the process to those who, 
as he said, wanted bullying, sometimes he made 
mistakes. He was possessed also of another 
precious gift, — which, if he had not invented, he 
had brought to perfection, — that of bullying 


the judge also. He had found that by doing 
so he could lower a judge in the estimation 
of the jury, and thus diminish the force of a 
damnatory charge. Mr. Cheekey's services 
had been especially secured for this trial, and 
all the circumstances had been accurately ex- 
plained to him. It was felt that a great day 
would have arrived in Carmarthen when Mr. 
Cheekey should stand up in the court to cross- 
examine Cousin Henry. 

'^Yes/' said Mr. Evans, chuckling, "I 
think that Mr. Cheekey will have something 
to say to it. What will be the result, Mr. 
Apjohn ? '' he asked abruptly. 

'^ How am I to say ? If he can only hold 
his own like a man, there will, of course, be a 
verdict of guilty.^ ^ 

'^ But can he ? " asked he of the news- 

'* 1 hope he may with all my heart, — if he 
have done nothing that he ought not to have 
done. In this matter, Mr. Evans, I have alto- 
G 2 


getter a divided sympatliy. I dislike tlie man 
utterly. I donH care who knows it. No one 
knows it better than he himself. The idea of 
his coming here over that young lady's head was 
from the first abhorrent to me. When I saw 
him^ and heard him, and found out what he 
was, — such a poor, cringing, cowardly wretch, 
— my feeling was of course exacerbated. It was 
terrible to me that the old squire, whom I had 
always respected, should have brought such a 
man among us. But that was the old squire's 
doing. He certainly did bring him, and as cer- 
tainly intended to make him his heir. If he 
did make him his heir, if that will which I 
read was in truth the last will, then I hope 
most sincerely that all that Mr. Cheekey may 
do may be of no avail against him. If that be 
the case, I shall be glad to have an oppor- 
tunity of calling upon you in your new lodg- 

"But if there was another will, Mr. Apjohn, 
— a later will ? '' 


'^ Then, of course, there is the doubt whether 
this man be aware of it.'' 

'' But if he be aware of it ? '' 

^' Then I hope that Mr. Cheekey may tear 
him limb from hmb.^' 

'^ But you feel sure that it is so ? " 

'*Ahj I do not know about that. It is 
very hard to be sure of anything. When 
see him I do feel almost sure that he is guilty; 
but when I think of it afterwards, I again have 
my doubts. It is not by men of such calibre 
that great crimes are committed. I can 
hardly fancy that he should have destroyed 
a will.'' 

" Or hidden it ? " 

'^ If it were hidden, he would live in agony 
lest it were discovered. I used to think so 
when I knew that he passed the whole day 
sitting in one room. Now he goes out for 
hours together. Two or three times he has 
been down with old Griffith at Coed, and twice 
young Cantor found him lying on the sea 


cliff. I doubt whetlier lie would liave gone 
so far afield if tlie will were hidden in tlie 

" Can lie have it on his own person ? " 

"He is not brave enough for that. The 
presence of it there would reveal itself by the 
motion of his hands. His fingers would always 
be on the pocket that contained it. I do not 
know what to think. And it is because I am 
in doubt that I have brought him under Mr. 
Cheekey's thumbscrew. It is a case in which 
I would, if possible, force a man to confess 
the truth even against himself. And for this 
reason I have urged him to prosecute you. 
But as an honest man myself, I am bound to 
hope that he may succeed if he be the rightful 
owner of Llanfeare.^' 

"No one believes it,. Mr. Apjohn. Not one 
in all Carmarthen beheves it.^^ 

" I will not say what 1 believe myself. In- 
deed I do not know. But I do hope that by 


Mr. Cheekey's aid or otherwise we may get at 
the truth." 

In his own peculiar circle, with Mr. Geary 
the attorney, with Mr. Jones the auctioneer, 
and Mr. Powell, the landlord of. the Bush 
Hotel, Mr. Evans was much more triumphant. 
Among them, and, indeed, with the gentlemen 
of Carmarthen generally, he was something of 
a hero. They did believe it probable that the 
interloper would be extruded from the property 
which did not belong to him, and that the 
doing of this would be due to Mr. Evans. 
"Apjohn pretends to think that it is very 
doubtful,'^ said he to his three friends. 

"Apjohn isn^t doubtful at all," said Mr. 
Geary, " but he is a little cautious as to 
expressing himself." 

'^ Apjohn has behaved very well," remarked 
the innkeeper. " If it wasn't for him we 
should never have got the rascal to come for- 
ward at all. He went out in one of my flies, 


but I won^t let them charge for it on a job like 

^^I suppose you'll charge for bringing 
Cousin Henry into the court/' said the 
auctioneer. They had all got to call him 
Cousin Henry since the idea had got abroad 
that he had robbed his Cousin Isabel. 

" I'd bring him too for nothing, and stand 
him his lunch into the bargain, rather than 
that he shouldn't have the pleasure of meeting 
Mr. Cheekey." 

" Cheekey will get it out of him, if there is 
anything to get," said Mr. Evans. 

" My belief is that Mr. Cheekey will about 
strike him dumb. If he has got anything in 
his bosom to conceal, he will be so awe-struck 
that he won't be able to open his mouth. 
He won't be got to say he did it, but he won't 
be able to say he didn't." This was Mr. Geary's 

'^ What would that amount to ? " asked Mr. 
Powell. ^^I'm afraid they couldn't give the 


place back to the young lady because of 

" The jury would acquit Mr. Evans. That's 
about what it would amount to," said the 

^' And Cousin Henry would go back to Llan- 
feare, and have all his troubles over/' remarked 
Mr. Jones. This they deemed to be a dis- 
astrous termination to all the trouble which 
they were taking, but one which seemed by 
no means improbable. 

They all agreed that even Mr. Cheekey would 
hardly be able to extract from the man an 
acknowledgment that he had with his own 
hands destroyed the will. Such a termination 
as that to a cross-examination had never been 
known under the hands of the most expert 
of advocates. That Cousin Henry might be 
stricken dumb, that he might faint, that he 
might be committed for contempt of court, — 
all these events were possible, or perhaps, not 
impossible ; but that he should say, ^'^ Yes, I 


did it, I burnt the will. Yes, I, with my own 
hands/' — that they all declared to be impossible. 
And, if so, Cousin Henry would go back again 
to Llanfeare confirmed in his possession of the 

" He will only laugh at us in his sleeve when 
it is over," said the auctioneer. 

They little knew the torments which the 
man was enduring, or how unlikely it was that 
he should laugh in his sleeve at any one. We 
are too apt to forget when we think of the sins 
and faults of men how keen may be their 
conscience in spite of their sins. While they 
were thus talking of Cousin Henry, he 
was vainly endeavouring to console himself 
with the reflection that he had not committed 
any great crime, that there was still a road 
open to him for repentance, that if only he 
might be allowed to escape and repent in Lon- 
don, he would be too glad to resign Llanfeare 
and all its glories. The reader will hardly 
suppose that Cousin Henry will return after 


the trial to laugh in his sleeve in his own 
library in his own house. 

A few days afterwards Mr. Apjohn was up 
in town and had an interview with Mr. Balsam, 
the barrister. " This client of mine does not 
seem to be a nice sort of country gentleman/' 
said Mr. Balsam. 

" Anything but that. You will understand^ 
Mr. Balsam, that my only object in persuading 
him to indict the paper has been to put him 
into a witness-box. I told him so, of course. 
I explained to him that unless he would 
appear there, he could never hold up his 

" And he took your advice.^' 

" Yery unwillingly. He would have given 
his right hand to escape. But I gave him no 
alternative. I so put it before him that he 
could not refuse to do as I bade him with- 
out owning himself to be a rascal. Shall 
I tell you what 1 think will come of 


'' What will come of it ? '' 

'^He will not appear. I feel certain that 
he will not have the courage to show himself 
in the court. When the day comes, or, per- 
haps, a day or two before, he will run away.^^ 

'^ What will you do then?'' 

^^Ah, that's the question. What shall we 
do then ? He is bound to prosecute, and will 
have to pay the penalty. In such a case as 
this I think we could have him found and 
brought into court for the next assizes. 
But what could we do then ? Though we 
were ever so rough to him in the way of con- 
tempt of court and the rest of it, we cannot 
take the property away. If he has got hold 
of the will and destroyed it, or hidden it, we 
can do nothing as to the property as long as he 
is strong enough to hold his tongue. If he 
can be made to speak, then I think we shall 
get at it." 

Mr. Balsam shook his head. He was quite 
willing to believe that his client was as base 


as Mr. Apjolin represented him to be ; but 
lie was not willing to believe that Mr. 
Cheekey was as powerful as had been as- 




On his return from London Mr. Apjolin wrote 
the following letter to his client, and this he 
sent to Llanfeare by a clerk, who was instructed 
to wait there for an answer : — 
'^ My dear Sir, — 

" I have just returned from London, 
where I saw Mr. Balsam, who will be employed 
on your behalf at the assizes. It is necessasry 
that you should come into my office, so that I 
may complete the instructions which are to be 
given to counsel. As I could not very well 
do this at Llanfeare without considerable in- 
convenience, I must give you this trouble. 
My clerk who takes this out to you will bring 


back your answer, saying wlietlier eleven in the 
morning to-morrow or three in the afternoon 
will best suit your arrangements. You can 
tell him also whether you would wish me to 
send a fly for you. I believe that you still 
keep your uncle^s carriage, in which case it 
would perhaps be unnecessary. A message 
sent by the clerk will suffice, so that you may 
be saved the trouble of writing. 
'^ Yours truly, 

'^ Nicholas Apjohn.-" 

The clerk had made his way into the book- 
room in which Cousin Henry was sitting, and 
stood there over him while he was reading the 
letter. He felt sure that it had been arranged 
by Mr. Apjohn that it should be so, in order 
that he might not have a moment to consider the 
reply which he would send. Mr. Apjohn had 
calculated, traitor that he was to the cause of 
his client, — so thought Cousin Henry, — that 
the man's presence would rob him of his pre- 


sence of mind so as to prevent him from send- 
ing a refusal. 

*' I don't see why I should go into Carmar- 
then at all/^ he said. 

^^ Ohj sir, it-'s quite essential, — altogether 
essential in a case such as this. You are 
bound to prosecute, and of course you must 
give your instructions. If Mr. Apjohn were 
to bring everything out here for the purpose, 
the expense would be tremendous. In going 
there, it will only be the fly, and it will all be 
done in five minutes/^ 

" Who will be there ? " asked Cousin Henry 
after a pause. 

'^ I shall be there,'^ answered the clerk, not 
unnaturally putting himself first, "and Mr. 
Apjohn, and perhaps one of the lads." 

" There won't be any — barrister ? '^ asked 
Cousin Henry, showing the extent of his fear 
by his voice and his countenance. 

" Oh, dear, no ; they won't be here till the 
assizes. A barrister never sees his own client. 


You'll go in as a witness, and will have no- 
thing to do with the barristers till you're 
put up face to face before them in the wit- 
ness-box. Mr. Balsam is a very mild gentle- 

" He is employed by me ? " 

" Oh, yes ; he's on our side. His own side 
never matters much to a witness. It^s when 
the other side tackles you ! '^ 

'^ Who is the other side ? " asked Cousin 

" Haven't you heard V^ The voice in which 
this was said struck terror to the poor wretch's 
soul. There was awe in it and pity, and some- 
thing almost of advice, — as though the voice 
were warning him to prepare against the evil 
which was threatening him. '^ They have got 
Mr. Cheekey ! '* Here the voice became even 
more awful. '' I knew they would when I first 
heard what the case was to be. They've gob 
Mr. Cheekey. They don't care much about 
money when they're going it like that. There 

VOL. IT. 7T 


are many of them I have known awful enough, 
but he's the awfuUest/' 

" He can't eat a fellow/^ said Cousin Henry, 
trying to look like a man witli good average 

" No ; lie can't eat a fellow. It isn^t that 
way he does it. I've known some of 'em who 
looked as though they were going to eat a 
man ; but he looks as thougb he were going to 
skin you, and leave you bare for the birds to 
eat you. He^s gentle enough at first, is Mr. 

" What is it all to me ? '^ asked Cousin 

'^ Oh, nothing, sir. To a gentleman like 
you wbo knows what he's about it's all no- 
thing. What can Mr. Cheekey do to a gen- 
tleman who has got nothing to conceal? 
But wben a witness has something to hide, — 
and sometimes there will be something, — 
then it is that Mr. Cheekey comes out strong. 
He looks into a man and sees that it's there. 


and then he turns him inside out till he gets at 
it. That's what I call skinning a witness. I 
saw a poor fellow once so knocked about by 
Mr. Cheekey thafc they had to carry him down 
speechless out of the witness-box.'^ 

It was a vivid description of all that Cousin 
Henry had pictured to himself. And he had 
actually, by his own act, subjected himself to 
this process ! Had he been staunch in refus- 
ing to bring any action against the newspaper, 
Mr. Cheekey would have been powerless in 
reference to him. And now he was summoned 
into Carmarthen to prepare himself by minor 
preliminary pangs for the torture of the auto- 
da-fe which was to be made of him. 

^'1 don't see why I should go into Carmar- 
then at all,'' he said, having paused a while 
after the eloquent description of the barrister's 

'^ Not come into Carmarthen ! Why, sir, 
you must complete the instructions." 

'' I don't see it at all." 
H 2 


'^ Then do you mean to back out of it alto - 
getter, Mr. Jones ? I wouldn't be af eared by- 
Mr. Cheekey like that ! " 

Then it occurred to him that if he did mean 
to back out of it altogether he could do so 
better at a later period, when they might 
hardly be able to catch him by force and briog 
him as a prisoner before the dreaded tribunal. 
And as it was his purpose to avoid the trial by 
giving up the will, which he would pretend to 
have found at the moment of giving it up, he 
would ruin his own project, — as he had done 
so many projects before, — by his imbecility at 
the present moment. Cheekey would not be 
there in Mr. Apjohn^s office, nor the judge 
and jury and all the crowd of the court to 
look at him. 

^' I don^t mean to back out at all," he said ; 
''and it^s very impertinent of you to say so." 

" I didn't mean impertinence, Mr. Jones ; 
— only it is necessary you should come into 
Mr. Apjohn's office." 


^^ Yery well; 1^11 come to-morrow at three.'^ 
^' And about the fly, Mr. Jones ? " 
'' I can come in my own carriage." 
" Of course. That's what Mr. Apjohn said. 
But if I may make so bold, Mr. Jones, — 
wouldn't all the people in Carmarthen know 
the old Squire^s carriage ? '^ 

Here was another trouble. Yes; all the 
people in Carmarthen would know the old 
Squire's carriage, and after all those passages 
in the newspapers, — ^believing, as he knew 
they did, that he had stolen the property^— 
wouJd clamber up on the very wheels to look 
at him ! The clerk had been right in that. 

" I don't mean it for any impertinence, Mr. 
Jones ; but wouldn't it be better just to come 
in and to go out quiet in one of Mr. Powell's 
flies ? " 

^'^ Yery well," said Cousin Henry. " Let the 
fly come." 

^'I thought it would be best," said the 
clerk, taking cowardly advantage of his success 


over the prostrate wretch. " What^s the use 
of a gentleman taking his own carriage 
through the streets on such an occasion as 
this ? They are so prying into everything in 
Carmarthen. Now^ when they see the Bush 
fly, they won^t think as anybody particular is in 
it.-*^ And so it was settled. The fly should be 
at Llanfeare by two o'clock on the following 

Ohj if he could but die ! If the house 
would fall upon him and crush him ! There 
had not been a word spoken by that reptile of 
a clerk which he had not understood, — not an 
arrow cast at him the sting of which did not 
enter into his very marrow ! " Oh, nothing, 
sir, to a gentleman like you.'' The man had 
looked at him as he had uttered the words 
with a full appreciation of the threat conveyed. 
*' They've got a rod in pickle for you ; — for 
you, who have stolen your cousin's estate ! Mr. 
Cheek ey is coming for you ! " ITiat was what 
the miscreant of a clerk had said to him. And 


theiij thougli he had found himself compelled to 
yield to that hint about the carriage^ how terrible 
was it to have to confess that he was afraid to 
be driven through Carmarthen in his own car- 
riage ! 

He must go into Carmarthen and face Mr. 
Apjohn once again. That was clear. He 
could not now send the will in lieu of himself. 
Why had he not possessed the presence of mind 
to say to the clerk at once that no further steps 
need be taken ? *^ No further steps need be 
taken. I have found the will. Here it is. I 
found it this very morning among the books. 
Take it to Mr. Apjohn, and tell him I have 
done with Llanfeare and all its concerns.''^ 
How excellent would have been the oppor- 
tunity ! And it would not have been difficult 
for him to act his part amidst the confusion to 
which the clerk would have been brought by 
the greatness of the revelation made to him. 
But he had allowed the chance to pass, and 
now he must go into Carmarthen ! 


At half-past two tlie following day lie put 
himself into the fly. During the morning he 
had taken the will out of the book, determined 
to carry it with him to Carmarthen in his 
pocket. But when he attempted to enclose it 
in an envelope for the purpose^ his mind mis- 
gave him and he restored it. Hateful as was 
the property to him, odious as were the house 
and all things about it, no sooner did the doing 
of the act by which he was to release himself 
from them come within the touch of his fingers, 
than he abandoned the idea. At such mo- 
ments the estate would again have charms 
for him, and he would remember that such 
a deed, when once done, would admit of no 

" I am glad to see you, Mr. Jones,'^ said the 
attorney as his client entered the inner office. 
" There are a few words which must be settled 
between you and me before the day comes, and 
no time has to be lost. Sit down, Mr. Eicketts, 
and write the headings of the questions and 


answers. Then Mr. Jones can initial them 

Mr. Eicketts was the clerk who had come 
out to Llanfeare. Cousin Henry sat silent as 
Mr. Ricketts folded his long sheet of folio paper 
with a double margin. Here was a new 
terror to him ; and as he saw the prepara- 
tions he almost made up his mind that he 
would on no account sign his name to any- 

• The instructions to be given to Mr. Balsam 
were in fact very simple, and need not here be 
recapitulated. His uncle had sent for him to 
Llanfeare, had told him that he was to be the 
heir, had informed him that a new will 
had been made in his favour. After his 
uncle's death and subsequent to the funeral, 
he had heard a will read, and under that will 
had inherited the property. As far as he be- 
lieved, or at any rate as far as he knew, that 
was his uncle's last will and testament. These 
were the instructions which, under Mr. Ap- 


john^s advice^ were to be given to Mr. Balsam 
as to his (Cousin Henry^s) direct evidence. 

Then Cousin Henry, remembering his last 
communication to Farmer Griffith, remember- 
ing also all that the two Cantors could prove, 
added something on his own account. 

'^ I saw the old man writing up in his room,'' 
he said, '^ copying something which I knew to 
be a will. I was sure then he was going to 
make another change and take the property 
from me." " No ; I asked him no questions. 
I thought it very cruel, but it was of no use 
for me to say anything.'' '^No; he didn't 
tell me what he was about ; but I knew it was 
another will. I wouldn't condescend to ask a 
question. When the Cantors said that they 
had witnessed a will, I never doubted them. 
When you came there to read the will, I sup- 
posed it would be found. Like enough it's there 
now, if proper search were made. I can tell 
all that to Mr. Balsam if he wants to know 


'' Why didn't you tell me all this before ? " 
said Mr. Apjohn. 

^'It isn't much to tell. It's only what I 
thought. If what the Cantors said and what 
you all believed yourselves didn't bring you to 
the will, nothing I could say would help you. 
It doesn't amount to more than thinking after 

Then Mr. Apjohn was again confused and 
again in doubt. Could it be possible after all 
that the conduct on the part of the man which 
had been so prejudicial to him in the eyes of 
all men had been produced simply by the an- 
noyances to which he had been subjected ? It 
was still possible that the old man had himself 
destroyed the document which he had been 
tempted to make, and that they had all of 
them been most unjust to this poor fellow. 
He added, however, all the details of this new 
story to the instructions which were to be 
given to Mr. Balsam, and to which Cousin 
Henry did attach his signature. 


Then came some furtlier conversation about 
Mr. Cheekey, wliicli, however^ did not take 
an official form. What questions Mr. Cheekey 
might ask would be between Mr. Cheekey and 
the other attorney^ and formed no part of Mr. 
Apjohn^s direct business. He had intended to 
imbue his client with something of the horror 
with which his clerk had been before him in 
creating, believing that the cause of truth 
would be assisted by reducing the man to the 
lowest condition of mean terror. But this new 
story somewhat changed his purpose. If the 
man were innocent, — if there were but some 
small probability of his innocence, — was it not 
his duty to defend him as a client from ill- 
usage on the part of Cheekey ? That Cheekey 
must have his way with him was a matter of 
course, — that is, if Cousin Henry appeared at 
all; but a word or two of warning might be 
of service. 

" You will be examined on the other side by 
Mr. Cheekey,^' he said, intending to assume a 


pleasant voice. At the hearing of the awful 
name^ sweat broke out on Cousin Henry's 
brow. " You know what his line will be ? '' 

*' I don't know anything about it.'* 

" He will attempt to prove that another will 
was made." 

" I do not deny it. Haven't I said that I 
think another will was made ? '' 

'' And that you are either aware of its exis- 
tence — ;'' here Mr. Apjohn paused, having 
resumed that stern tone of his voice which was 
so disagreeable to Cousin Henry's ears — '^ or 
that you have destroyed it." 

" What right has he got to say that I have 
destroyed it ? I have destroyed nothing." 

Mr. Apjohn marked the words well, and 
was again all but convinced that his client was 
not innocent. ^' He will endeavour to make a 
jury believe from words coming out of your 
own mouth, or possibly by your silence, that 
you have either destroyed the deed,— or have 
concealed it.'"' 


Cousin Henry thought a moment whether 
he had concealed the will or not. No ! he had 
not put it within the book. The man who 
hides a thing is the man who conceals the 
thing,— not a man who fails to tell that he 
has found it. 

'^'^Or — concealed it/' repeated Mr. Apjohn 
with that peculiar voice of his. 

'^ I have not concealed it,'' said the victim. 

^' Nor know where it lies hidden ? " Ghastly 
pale he became, — livid, almost blue by degrees. 
Though he was fully determined to give up the 
will, he could not yield to the pressure now 
put upon him. Nor could he withstand it. 
The question was as terrible to him as though 
he had entertained no idea of abandoning the 
property. To acknowledge that he knew all 
along where it was hidden would be to confess 
his guilt and to give himself up to the tor- 
mentors of the law. 

''Nor know where it lies hidden?'' repeated 
Mr. Apjohn, in a low voice. *' Go out of the 


room, Ricketts/' lie said. '^ Nor know where 
it lies hidden ? ^' lie asked a third time 
when the clerk had closed the door behind 

" I know nothing about it/' gasped the poor 

" You have nothing beyond that to say to 
me ? '' 

'' Nothing.'' 

'^ You would rather that it should be left to 
Mr. Cheekey? If there be anything further 
that you can say, I should be more tender with 
you than he." 


" And here, in this room, there is no public 
to gaze upon you." 

" Nothing," he gasped again. 

" Yery well. So be it. Ricketts, see if the 
fly be there for Mr. Jones." A few minutes 
afterwards his confidential clerk was alone 
with him in the room. 

"I have learned so much, Ricketts," said 


he. '^ The will is still in existence. I am sure 
of that. And lie knows its whereabouts. We 
shall have Miss Brodrick there before Christ- 
mas yet.^^ 




The last words in the last chapter were 
spoken by Mr. Apjohn to his confidential 
clerk in a tone of triumph. He had picked 
up something further^ and, conscious that he 
had done so by his own ingenuity, was for a 
moment triumphant. But when he came to 
think over it all alone, — and he. spent many 
hours just at present in thinking of this 
matter, — he was less inclined to be self-satis- 
fied. He felt that a great responsibility 
rested with him, and that this weighed upon 
him peculiarly at the present moment. He 
was quite sure not only that a later will had 
been made, but that it was in existence. It 



was concealed somewhere^ and Cousin Henry 
knew tlie secret of its hiding-place. It had 
existed^ at any rate, that morning ; but now 
came the terrible question whether the man, 
driven to his last gasp in his misery, would 
not destroy it. Not only had Mr. Apjohn dis- 
covered the secret, but he was well aware 
that Cousin Henry was conscious that he had 
done so, and yet not a word had been spoken 
between them which, should the will now be 
destroyed, could be taken as evidence that it 
had ever existed. Let the paper be once 
burnt, and Cousin Henry would be safe in 
possession of the property. Mr. Cheekey 
might torment his victim, but certainly would 
not extract from him a confession such as 
that. The hiding of the will, the very place 
in which it was hidden, might possibly be 
extracted. It was conceivable that ingenuity 
on one side and abject terror on the other 
might lead a poor wretch to betray the secret; 
but'^'a man who has committed a felony 


will hardly confess the deed in a court of law. 
Something of all this would, thought Mr. 
Apjohn, occur to Cousin Henry himself, and 
by this very addition to his fears he might be 
driven to destroy the will. The great object 
now should be to preserve a document which had 
lived as it were a charmed life through so many 
dangers. If anything were to be done with this 
object, — any thing new, — it must be done at once. 
Even now, while he was thinking of it. Cousin 
Henry was being taken slowly home in Mr. 
Powell's fly, and might do the deed as soon as 
he found himself alone in the book-room. 
Mr. Apjohn was almost sure that the will 
was concealed somewhere in the book-room. 
That long- continued sojourn in the chamber, 
of which the whole county had heard so much, 
told him that it was so. He was there always, 
watching the hiding-place. Would it be well 
that searchers should again be sent out, and 
that they should be instructed never to leave 
that room till after Cousin Henry's examina- 
I 2 


tion should be over ? If so, it would be right 
that a man should be sent off instantly on 
horseback, so as to prevent immediate de- 
struction. But then he had no power to take 
such a step in reference to another man's 
house. It was a question whether any magis- 
trate would give him such a warrant, seeing 
that search had already been made, and that, 
on the failure of such search, the Squire's will 
had already been proved. A man's house is 
his castle, let the suspicion against him be 
what it may, unless there be evidence to sup- 
port it. Were he to apply to a magistrate, he 
could only say that the man's own manner and 
mode of speech had been evidence of his guilt. 
And yet how much was there hanging, per- 
haps, on the decision of the moment ! Whether 
the property should go to the hands of her 
who was entitled to enjoy it, or remain in the 
possession of a thief such as this, might so 
probably depend on the action which should 
be taken, now, at this very instant ! 


Mr. Ricketts, his confidential clerk, was 
tlie only person witli whom lie had fully dis- 
cussed all the details of the case, — the only 
person to whom he had expressed his own 
thoughts as they had occurred to him. He 
had said a word to the clerk in triumph as 
Cousin Henry left him, but a few minutes 
afterwards recalled him with an altered 
tone. ^' Ricketts," he said, '^ the man has 
got that will with him in the book-room at 

'^ Or in his pocket, sir,^-* suggested 

" I don't think it. Wherever it be at this 
moment, he has not placed it there himself. 
The Squire put it somewhere, and he has found 

''The Squire was very weak when he made 
that will, sir," said the clerk. " Just at that 
time he was only coming down to the dining- 
room, when the sun shone in just for an hour 
or two in the day. If he put the will any- 


where^ it would probably be in bis bed- 

'' Tbe man occupies another chamber ? " 
asked the attorney. 

''Yes, sir; the same room he had before 
his uncle died." 

'' It^s in the book-room," repeated Mr. 

'' Then he must have put it there.'^ 

*^^But he didn^t. From his manner, and 
from a word or two that he spoke, I feel 
sure that the paper has been placed where it 
is by other hands." 

" The old man never went into the book- 
room. I heard every detail of his latter life 
from Mrs. Griffith when the search was going 
on. He hadn't been there for more than a 
month. If he wanted anything out of the 
book-room, after the young lady went away, he 
sent Mrs. Griffith for it." 

*' What did he send for ? " asked Mr. Ap- 


" He used to read a little sometimes^'^ said 
the clerk. 

" Sermons ? ^^ suggested Mr. Apjohn. " For 
many years passed lie has read sermons to 
himself whenever he has failed in going to 
church. I have seen the volumes there on the 
table in the parlour when I have been with 
him. Did they search the books ? '^ 

" Had every volume off the shelves, 

'^ And opened every one of them ? ^' 

" That I can't tell. I wasn't there." 

'' Every volume should have been shaken," 
said Mr. Apjohn. 

*^ It's not too late yet, sir," said the 

" But how are we to get in and do it ? I 
have no right to go into his house, or any 
man's, to search it." 

" He wouldn't dare to hinder you, sir." 

Then there was a pause before anything 
further was said. 


" The step is sucli a strong one to take/' 
said the lawyer, *' when one is guided only by 
one's own inner conviction. I have no tittle 
of evidence in my favour to prove anything 
beyond the fact that the old Squire in the 
latter days of his life did make a will which 
has not been found. For that we have searched, 
and, not finding it, have been forced to admit 
to probate the last will which we ourselves 
made. Since that nothing has come to my 
knowledge. Guided partly by the man's ways 
while he has been at Llanfeare, and partly by 
his own manner and hesitation, I have come 
to a conclusion in my own mind; but it is 
one which I would hardly dare to propose to 
a magistrate as a ground for action." 

" But if he consented, sir ? " 

" Still, I should be hardly able to justify 
myself for such intrusion if nothing were 
found. We have no right to crush the poor 
creature because he is so easily crushable. I 
feel already pricks of conscience because I am 


bringing down Jack Cheekey upon him. If 
it all be as I have suggested, — that the will 
is hidden, let us say in some volume of ser- 
mons there, — what probability is there that 
he will destroy it now ? '^ 

*^ He would before the trial, I think.^^ 

'^ But not at once ? I think not. He will 
not allow himself to be driven to the great 
crime till the last moment. It is quite on the 
cards that his conscience will even at last be 
too strong for it." 

'^ We owe him something, sir, for not de- 
stroying it when he first found it." 

" Not a doubt ! If we are right in all this, 
we do owe him something, — at any rate, 
charity enough to suppose that the doing of 
such a deed must be very distasteful to him. 
When I think of it I doubt whether he^ll do it 
at all." 

"He asked me why they didn^t come 
and search again." 

" Did he ? I shouldn't wonder if the poor 


devil would be glad enough to be relieved 
from it all. Til tell you what FU do, Ric- 
ketts. I'll write to Miss. Brodrick's father, 
and ask him to come over here before the 
trial. He is much more concerned in the 
matter than I am, and should know as well 
what ought to be done.'' 

The letter was written urging Mr. Brodrick 
to come at once. '^ I have no right to tell 
you," Mr. Apjohn said in his letter, "that 
there is ground for believing that such a docu- 
ment as that I have described is still existing. 
I might too probably be raising false hope were 
I to do so. I can only tell you of my own 
suspicion, explaining to you at the same time 
on what ground it is founded. I think it 
would be well that you should come over and 
consult with me whether further steps should 
be taken. If so, come at once. The trial is- 
fixed for Friday the 30th." This was written 
on Thursday the 22nd. There was, therefore, 
not much more than a week's interval. 


" You will come with me/' said Mr. Brod- 
rick to the Eev. William Owen, after showing 
to him the letter from the attorney at Here- 

" Why should I go with you ? '' 

'^ I would wish you to do so — on Isabel's 

" Isabel and I are nothing to each 

"I am sorry to hear you say that. It 
was but the other day that you declared 
that sbe should be your wife in spite of 

" So she shall, if Mr. Henry Jones be firmly 
established at Llanfeare. It was explained to 
me before why your daughter, as owner of 
Llanfeare, ought not to marry me, and, as I 
altogether agreed with the reason given, it 
would not become me to take any step in this 
matter. As owner of Llanfeare she will be 
nothing to me. It cannot therefore be right 
that I should look after her interests in that 


direction. On any otlier subject I would do 
anything for her J' 

The father no doubt felt that the two young 
people were self-willed, obstinate, and con- 
tradictory. His daughter wouldn't marry the 
clergyman because she had been deprived of 
her property. The clergyman now refused to 
marry his daughter because it was presumed 
that her property might be restored to her. 
As, however, he could not induce Mr. Owen to 
go with him to Carmarthen, he determined to 
go alone. He did not give much weight to 
this new story. It seemed to him certain that 
the man would destroy the will, — or would 
already have destroyed it, — if in the first in- 
stance he was wicked enough to conceal it. 
Still the matter was so great and the question 
so important to his daughter's interest that 
he felt himself compelled to do as Mr. Apjohn 
had proposed. But he did not do it altogether 
as Mr. Apjohn had proposed. He. allowed 
others matters to interfere, and postponed his 


journey till Tuesday the 27tli of tlie montli. 
Late on that evening he reached Carmarthen, 
and at once went to Mr. Apjohn^s house. 

Cousin Henry's journey into Carmarthen 
had been made on the previous Thursday, 
and since that day no new steps had been 
taken to unravel the mystery, — none at least 
which had reference to Llanfeare. No fur- 
ther search had been made among the books. 
All that was known in Carmarthen of 
Cousin Henry during these days was that he 
remained altogether within the house. Were 
he so minded, ample time was allowed to him 
for the destruction of any document. In the 
town, preparation went on in the usual way 
for the Assizes, at which the one case of inte- 
rest was to be the indictment of Mr. Evans 
for defamation of character. It was now sup- 
posed by the world at large that Cousin 
Henry would come into court; and because 
this was believed of him there was some- 
thing of a slight turn of public opinion in his 


favour. It would hardly be the case that 
the mau, if really guilty^ would encounter 
Mr. Cheekey. 

During the days that had elapsed, even Mr. 
Apjohn himself had lost something of his con- 
fidence. If any further step was to be taken, 
why did not the young lady's father himself 
come and take it ? Why had he been so 
dilatory in a matter which was of so much 
greater importance to himself than to any 
one else ? But now the two attorneys were 
together, and it was necessary that they 
should decide upon doing something, — or 

"1 hoped you would have been here last 
week/' said Mr. Apjohn. 

" I couldn't get away. There were things 
I couldn't possibly leave." 

" It is so important," said Mr. Apjohn. 

'^ Of course it is important, — of most 
vital importance, — if there be any hope." 


" I have fcold you exactly what I think and 

" Yes, yes. 1 know how much more than 
kind, how honourable you have been in all 
this matter. You still think that the will is 
hidden ? '' 

"I did think so.'' 

" Something has changed your opinion ? " 

'^ I can hardly say that either/* said Mr. 
Apjohn. '^ There was ground on which to 
form my opinion, and I do not know that 
there is any ground for changing it. But in 
such a matter the mind will vacillate. I did 
think that he had found the will shut up in a 
volume of sermons, in a volume which his 
uncle had been reading during his illness, and 
that he had left the book in its place upon the 
shelf. That, you will say, is a conclusion too 
exact for man to reach without anything in the 
shape of absolute evidence.'' 

"I do not say so ; but then as yet I hardly 


know the process by wMcli that belief has 
been reached/' 

"But I say so; — I say that is too exact. 
There is more of imagination in it than of true 
deduction. I certainly should not recommend 
another person to proceed far on such reason- 
ing. You see it has been in this way.-*' Then 
he explained to his brother attorney the pro- 
. cess of little circumstances by which he had 
arrived at his own opinion ; — the dislike of the 
man to leave the house^ his clinging to one 
room, his manifest possession of a secret as 
evinced by his conversations with Farmer 
Griffith, his continual dread of something, his 
very clinging to Llanfeare as a residence which 
would not have been the case had he destroyed 
the will, his exaggerated fear of the coming 
cross-examination, his ready assertion that he 
had destroyed nothing and hidden nothing, — 
but his failure to reply when he was asked 
whether he was aware of any such conceal- 
ment. Then the fact that the books had not 


been searched themselves, that the old Squire 
had never personally used the room, but had 
used a book or one or two books which had 
been taken from it ; that these books had been 
volumes which had certainly been close to him 
in those days when the lost will was being 
"written. All these and other little details 
known to the reader made the process by 
which Mr. Apjohn had arrived at the conclu- 
sion which he now endeavoured to explain 
to Mr. Brodrick. 

" I grant that the chain is slight,^^ said Mr. 
Apjohn, '^ so slight that a feather may break 
it. The strongest point in it all was the look 
on the man's face when I asked him the last 
, question. Now I have told you everything, 
and you must decide what we ought to 

But Mr. Brodrick was a man endowed 
with lesser gifts than those of the other at- 
torney. In such a matter Mr. Apjohn was 
sure to lead. '^ What do you think yourself ? " 



^^I would propose that we, you and I, 
should go together over to Llaufeare to-mor- 
row and ask him to allow us to make what 
further search we may please about the house. 
If he permitted this — ^^ 

^' But would he ? '' 

" I think he would. I am not at all sure 
but what he would wish to have the will found. 
.If he did, we could begin and go through 
every book in the library. We would begin 
with the sermons, and soon know whether it 
be as I have suggested." 

" But if he refused ? " 

" Then I think I would make bold to insist 
on remaining there while you went to a magis- 
trate. I have indeed already prepared Mr. 
Evans of Llancolly, who is the nearest magis- 
trate. I would refuse to leave the room, and 
you would then return with a search warrant 
and a pohceman. But as for opening the 
special book or books, I could do that with or 
without his permission. While you talk to 


him I will look round the room and see where 
they are. I don^t think much of it all, Mr, 
Brodrick ; but when the stake is so high, it 
is worth playing for. If we fail in this, we 
can then only wait and see what the redoubt- 
able Mr. Cheekey may be able to do for 

Thus it was settled that Mr. Brodrick and 
Mr. Apjohn should go out to Llanfeare on the 
following morning. 




''I KNOW nothing about it/' Cousin Henry 
liad gasped out wlien asked by Mr. Apjobn, 
wben Rickets, the clerk, had left the room, 
whether he knew where the will was 
hidden. Then, when he had declared he had 
nothing further to say, he was allowed to 
go away. 

As he was carried back in the fly he felt 
certain that Mr. Apjohn knew that there had 
been a will, knew that the will was still 
in existence, knew that it had been hidden 
by some accident, and knew also that he, 
Henry Jones, was aware of the place of 
concealment. That the man should have 

DOUBTS. 133 

been so expert in reading the secret of 
his bosom was terrible to him. Had the 
man suspected him of destroying the will, 
— a deed the doing of which might have been 
so naturally suspected, — that would have 
been less terrible. He had done nothing, had 
committed no crime, was simply conscious of 
the existence of a paper which it was a duty, 
not of him, but of others to lind, and this man, 
by his fearful ingenuity, had discovered it 
all ! Now it was simply necessary that the 
place should be indicated, and in order that 
he himself might be forced to indicate it, 
Mr. Cheekey was to be let loose upon 
him ! 

How impossible, — how almost impossible 
had he found it to produce a word in answer 
to that one little question from Mr. Apjohn ! 
" Nor know where it is hidden ? " He 
had so answered it as to make it mani- 
fest that he did know. He was conscious 
that he had been thus weak, though there had 


been nothing in Mr. Apjohn's manner to appall 
him. How would it be with him when, hour 
after hour, question after question should be 
demanded of him, when that cruel tormentor 
should stand there glaring at him in presence 
of all the court ? There would be no need 
of such hour, — no need of that prolonged 
questioning. All that was wanted of him 
would be revealed at once. The whole secret 
would be screwed out of him by the first 
turn of the tormentor's engine. 

There was but one thing quite fixed in his 
mind. Nothing should induce him to face Mr. 
Cheekey, unless he should have made him- 
self comparatively safe by destroying the will. 
In that way he almost thought he might be 
safe. The suffering would be great. The 
rack and the thumbscrew^ the boots and the 
wheel, would, to the delight of all those pre- 
sent, be allowed to do their worst upon him 
for hours. It would be a day to him terrible 
to anticipate, terrible to endure, terrible 

DOUBTS. 135 

afterwards in liis memory; but he thought 
that not even Mr. Cheekey himself would be 
able to extract from him the admission of 
such a deed as that. 

And then by thai: deed he would undoubt- 
edly acquire Llanfeare. The place itself was not 
dear to him, but there was rising in his heart 
so strong a feeling of hatred against those 
who were oppressing him that it seemed to 
him almost a duty to punish them by con- 
tinued possession of the property. In this 
way he could triumph over them all. If once 
he could come down from Mr. Cheekey^s 
grasp alive, if he could survive those fearful 
hours, he would walk forth from the court the 
undoubted owner of Llanfeare. It would be 
as though a man should endure some excru- 
ciating operation under the hands of a sur- 
geon, with the assured hope that he might 
enjoy perfect health afterwards for the remain- 
der of his life. 

To destroy the will was his only chance of 


escape. There was nothing else left to him, 
knowing, as he did, that it was impossible for 
him to put an end to his own life with his own 
hands. These little plots of his, which he had 
planned for the revelation of his secret with- 
out the acknowledgment of guilt, had all 
fallen to pieces as he attempted to execute 
them. He began to be aware of himself that 
anythiug that required skill in the execution 
was impossible to him. But to burn the will 
he was capable. He could surely take the 
paper from its hiding-place and hold it down 
with the poker when he had thrust it between 
the bars. Or, as there was no fire provided in 
these summer months, he could consume it by 
the light of his candle when the dead hours of 
the night had come upon him. He had already 
resolved that, when he had done so, he would 
swallow the tell-tale ashes. He believed of 
himself that all that would be within his power, 
if only he could determine upon the doing of 

DOUBTS. 137 

And he thought that the deed when done 
would give him a new courage. The very 
danger to which he would have exposed him- 
self would make him brave to avoid it. Hav- 
ing destroyed the will, and certain that no eye 
had seen him, conscious that his safety de- 
pended on his own reticence, he was sure 
that he would keep his secret even before Mr. 

'' I know nothing of the will,^' he would 
say ; " I have neither seen it, nor hidden 
it, nor found it, nor destroyed it.'^ 

Knowing what would be the consequences 
were he to depart from that assertion, he 
would assuredly cling to it. He would be 
safer then, much safer than in his present 
vacillating, half -innocent position. 

As he was carried home in the fly, his 
mind was so intent upon this, he was so 
anxious to resolve to bring himself to do the 
deed, that he hardly knew where he was when 
the fly stopped at his hall door. As he entered 


his house, he stared about him as though 
doubtful of his whereabouts, and then, with- 
out speaking a word, made his way into the 
book-room, and seated himself on his accus- 
tomed chair. The woman came to him and 
asked him whether money should not be given 
to the driver. 

'^ What driver ? '' said he. " Let him 
go to Mr. Apjohn. It is Mr. Apjohn^s 
business, not mine.^^ Then he got up 
and shut the door violently as the woman 

Yes j it was Mr. Apjohn's business ; and he 
thought that he could put a spoke into the 
wheel of Mr. Apjohn's business. Mr. Apjohn 
was not only anxious to criminate him now, 
but had been anxious when such anxiety on 
his part had been intrusive and impertinent. 
Mr. Apjohn had, from first to last, been his 
enemy, and by his enmity had created that 
fatal dislike which his uncle had felt for him. 
Mr. Apjohn was now determined to ruin him. 

DOUBTS. 139 

Mr. A.pjolin had come out to him at Llan- 
feare, pretending to be his lawyer^ his friend, 
his adviser, and had recommended this trea- 
cherous indictment merely that he might be 
able to subject him to the torments of Mr. 
Cheekey's persecution. Cousin Henry could 
see it all now ! So, at least. Cousin Henry 
told himself. 

^' He is a clever fellow, and he thinks that 
I am a fool. Perhaps he is right, but he 
will find that the fool has been too many for 

It was thus that he communed with him- 

He had his dinner and sat by himself 
during the whole evening, as had been his prac- 
tice every day since his nucleus death. But 
yet this pecuhar night seemed to him to bo 
eventful. He felt himself to be lifted into 
some unwonted eagerness of life, something 
approaching to activity. There was a deed 
to be done, and though he was not as yet 


doing it, though he did not think that he in- 
tended to do it that very night, yet the fact 
that he had made up his mind made him in 
some sort aware that the dumb spirit which 
would not speak had been exorcised, and that 
the crushing dulness of the latter days had 
passed away from him. No ; he could not do 
it that night ; but he was sure that he would 
do it. He had looked about for a way of 
escape, and had been as though a dead man 
while he could not find it. He had Hved in 
terror of Mrs. Grifiith the housekeeper, of 
Farmer Griffith, of the two Cantors, of Mr. 
Apjohn, of that tyrant Cheekey, of his own 
shadow, — while he and that will were existing 
together in the same room. But it should be 
so no longer. There was one way of escape, 
and he would take it ! 

Then he went on thinking of what good 
things might be in store for him. His spirit 
had hitherto been so quenched by the vici- 
nity of the will that he had never dared to 

DOUBTS. 141 

soar into thoughts of the enjoyment of money. 
There had been so black a pall over every- 
thing that he had not as yet realized what it 
was that Llanfeare might do for him. Of 
course he could not live there. Though he 
should have to leave the house untenanted 
altogether, it would matter but little. There 
was no law to make a man live on his own 
estate. He calculated that he would be able 
to draw 1500Z. a year from the property; — 
1500L a year ! That would be clearly his own ; 
on which no one could lay a finger ; and what 
enjoyment could he not buy with. 1500Z. a year ? 
With a great resolve to destroy the will he 
went to bed, and slept through the night as 
best he could. In the dark of his chamber, 
when the candle was out, and he was not yet 
protected by his bed, there came a qualm upon 
him. But the deed was not yet done, and the 
qualm was kept under, and he slept. He 
even repeated the Lord^s Prayer to himself 
when he was under the clothes, struggling. 


howeveFj as lie did so, not to bring home to 
himself that petition as to the leading into 
temptation and the deliverance from evil. 

The next day, the Friday, and the Saturday- 
were passed in the same way. The resolution 
was still there, but the qualms came every 
night. And the salve to the qualm was always 
the same remembrance that the deed had not 
been done yet. And the prayer was always 
said, morning and night, with the same persis- 
tent rejection of those words which, in his pre- 
sent condition, were so damning to him, — re- 
jection from the intelligence though with the 
whispering voice the words were spoken. But 
still there was the resolve the same as ever. 
There was no other way of escape. A stag, 
when brought to bay, will trample upon the 
hounds. He would trample upon them. 
Llanfeare should all be his own. He 
would not return to his clerk's desk to be the 
scorn of all men, — to have it known that he 
had fraudulently kept the will hidden, and then 

DOUBTS. 143 

revealed it, not of grace, but because he was 
afraid of Mr. Cheekey. His mind was quite 
made up. But the deed need not be yet done. 
The fewer nights that he would have to pass 
in that house, after the doing of the deed, the 

The trial was to be on the Friday. He 
would not postpone the deed till the last day, 
as it might be then that emissaries might 
come to him, watching him to see that he did 
not escape. Aud yet it would be well for 
him to keep his hands clean from the doing 
of it up to the last moment. He was quite 
resolved. There was no other escape. And 
yet, — yet, — yet, who would say what might 
not happen ? Till the deed should have been 
done, there would yet be a path open to the 
sweet easiness of innocence. When it should 
have been done, there would be a final adieu 
to innocence. There would be no return to 
the white way, no possibility of repentance! 
How could a man repent while he was still 


holding the guilty prize which he had won ? 
Or how could he give up the prize without 
delivering himself as a criminal to the law ? 
But, nevertheless, he was resolved, and he de- 
termined that the deed should be done on the 
Tuesday night. 

During the whole Tuesday he was thinking 
of it. Could he bring himself to believe that 
all that story of a soul tormented for its 
wickedness in everlasting fire was but an old 
woman's tale ? If he could but bring himself 
to believe that ! If he could do that, then 
could he master his qualms. And why not ? 
Eeligious thoughts had hitherto but httle trou- 
bled his life. The Church and her services 
had been nothing to him. He had lived 
neither with the fear nor with the love of 
God at his heart. He knew that, and was 
but little disposed to think that a line of con- 
duct which had never been hitherto adopted 
by him would be embraced in his later life. 
He could not think of himself as being even 

DOUBTS. 145 

desirous to be religious. Why, then, should 
qualms afflict him ? 

That prayer which he was accustomed to 
repeat to himself as he went to rest was but a 
trick of his youth. It had come down to him 
from old, innocent days ; and though it was 
seldom omitted^ without a shiver, nevertheless 
it was repeated with contempt. In broad day- 
light, or when boon companions had been with 
him round the candles^ blasphemy had never 
frightened him. But now, — now in his trou- 
bles, he remembered that there was a hell. 
He could not shake from himself the idea. 
For unrepented sin there was an eternity of 
torment which would last for ever ! Such 
sin as this which he premeditated must remain 
unrepented, and there would be torment 
for him for ever. Nevertheless, he must do 
it. And, after all, did not many of the wise 
ones of the earth justify him in thinking that 
that threat was but an old woman^s tale ? 

Tuesday night came, — the late hours of 



Tuesday night,— the midnight hour at which 
he was sure that the women were in bed. and 
the will was taken out from its hiding-place. 
He had already trimmed the wick and placed 
the candle on an outspread newspaper, so 
that no fragment of the ash should fall where 
it might not be collected. He had walked 
round the room to make himself sure that no 
aperture might possibly be open. He put out 
the candle so as to see that no gleam of light 
from any source was making its way into the 
room, and then relighted it. The moment 
had come for the destruction of the document. 
He read it all through yet again ; — why he 
knew not, but in truth craving some excuse 
for further delay. With what care the dying 
old man had written every word and com- 
pleted every letter ! He sat there contem- 
plating the old man^s work, telling himself 
that it was for him to destroy it utterly by 
just a motion of his wrist. He turned 
round and trimmed the candle again, and 

DOUBTS. 147 

still sat there with the paper in his hand. 
Could it be that so great a result could come 
from so short an act? The damning of his 
own soul ! Would it in truth be the giving 
up of his own soul to eternal punishment ? 
God would know that he had not meant to 
steal the property ! God would know that he 
did not wish to steal it now ! God would 
know that he was doing this as the only means 
of escape from misery which others were 
plotting for him ! God would know how 
cruelly he had been used ! God would know 
the injustice with which the old man had 
treated him ! Then came moments in which 
he almost taught himself to believe that in 
destroying the will he would be doing no 
more than an act of rough justice, and that 
God would certainly condemn no one to 
eternal punishment for a jizst act. But still, 
whenever he would turn round to the candle, his 
hand would refuse to raise the paper to the 
flame. When done, it could not be undone I 
L 2 


And wlietlier those eternal flames should or 
should not get possession of him, there would 
be before him a life agonized by the dread of 
them. What could Mr. Cheekey do worse for 
him than that ? 

The Wednesday would at any rate do as 
well. Why rob himself of the comfort of one 
day during which his soul would not be 
irretrievably condemned ? Now he might 
sleep. For this night, at any rate, he might 
sleep. He doubted whether he would ever 
sleep again after the doing of the deed. To 
be commonly wicked was nothing to him, — 
nothing to break through all those ordinary 
rules of life which parents teach their children 
and pastors their flocks, but as to which the 
world is so careless. To covet other men^s 
goods, to speak evil of his neighbours, to run 
after his neighbour's wife if she came in his 
path, to steal a little in the ordinary way, — 
such as selling a lame horse or looking over an 
adversary's hand at whist, to swear to a lie^ or 

DOUBTS. 149 

to ridicule the memory of his parents, — these 
peccadillos had never oppressed his soul. That 
not telling of the will had been burdensome 
to him only because of the danger of dis- 
covery. But to burn a will, and thereby 
clearly to steal 1500Z. a year from his 
cousin ! To commit felony ! To do that 
for which he might be confined at Dartmoor 
all his life, with his hair cut, and dirty prison 
clothes, and hard food, and work to do ! He 
thought it would be well to have another day 
of life in which he had not done the deed. He 
therefore put the will back into the book and 
went to his bed. 



MR. APJOHN's success. 

EAELYonthe Wednesday morning Mr. Apjohn 
and Mr. Brodrick were on foot^ and preparing 
tor the performance of their very disagreeable 
day^s work. Mr. Brodrick did not believe at 
all in the day^s work^ and in discussing the 
matter with Mr. Apjohn^ after they had de- 
termined upon their line of action, made his 
mind known very clearly. To him it was 
simply apparent that if the will had fallen 
into the power of a dishonest person, and if 
the dishonest man could achieve his purpose 
by destroying it, the will would be destroyed. 
Of Cousin Henry he knew nothing. Cousin 
Henry might or might not be ordinarily 


honest, as are other ordinary people. There 
might be no such will as that spoken of, or 
there might be a will accidentally hidden, — or 
the will might have been found and destroyed. 
But that they should be able to find a will, 
the hiding-place of which should be known to 
Cousin Henry, was to his thinking out of the 
question. The subtler intellect of the other 
lawyer appreciating the intricacies of a weak 
man's mind saw more than his companion. 
When he found that Mr. Brodrick did not 
agree with him, and perceived that the other 
attorney's mind was not speculative in such a 
matter as this, he ceased to try to persuade, 
and simply said that it was the duty of both 
of them to leave no stone unturned. And so 
they started. 

"I'll take you about half a mile out of 
our way to show you Mr. Evans's gate," Mr. 
Apjohn said, after they had started. "His 
house is not above twenty minutes from 
Llanfeare, and should it be necessary to ask 


his assistance, lie will know all about it. You 
will find a policeman there ready to come 
back with you. But my impression is that 
Cousin Henry will not attempt to prevent any 
search which we may endeavour to make.^' 

It was about ten when they reached the 
house, and, on being shown into the book- 
room, they found Cousin Henry at his break- 
fast. The front door was opened for them by 
Mrs. Griffith, the housekeeper; and when Mr. 
Apjohn expressed his desire to see Mr. Jones, 
she made no difficulty in admitting him at 
once. It was a part of the misery of Cousin 
Henry^s position that everybody around him 
and near to him was against him. Mrs. Grif- 
fith was aware that it was the purpose of Mr. 
Apjohn to turn her present master out of 
Llanfeare if possible, and she was quite will- 
ing to aid him by any means in her power. 
Therefore, she gave her master no notice of 
the arrival of the two strangers, but ushered 
them into the room at once. 


Cousin Henry's breakfast was frugal. All 
his meals had been frugal since he had become 
owner of Llanfeare. It was not that he did 
not like nice eating as well as another, 
but that he was too much afraid of his own 
servants to make known his own tastes. And 
then the general discomforts of his position 
had been too great to admit of relief from 
delicate dishes. There was the tea-pot on the 
table, and the solitary cup, and the bread and 
butter, and the nearly naked bone of a cold 
joint of mutton. And the things were not set 
after the fashion of a well-to-do gentleman's 
table, but were put on as they might be in a 
third-rate London lodging, with a tumbled 
tablecloth, and dishes, plates, and cups all 
unlike each other. 

'^ Mr. Jones,'' said the attorney from Car- 
marthen, '^ this is your uncle, Mr. Brodrick, 
from Hereford." Then the two men who 
were so nearly connected, but had never 
known each other, shook hands. ^^ Of 


course, this matter/' continued Mr. Apjohiij 
*^ is of great moment, and Mr. Brodrick 
lias come over to look after his daughter's 

" I am very glad to see my uncle/' said 
Cousin. Henry, turning his eye involuntarily 
towards the shelf on which the volume of 
sermons was resting. " I am afraid I can^t 
offer you much in the way of breakfast." 

'^ We breakfasted before we left Carmar- 
then," said Mr. Apjohn. " If you do not 
mind going on, we will talk to you whilst you 
are eating." Cousin Henry said that he did 
not mind going on, but found it impossible to 
eat a morsel. That which he did, and that 
which he endured duriug that interview, he 
had to do and had to endure fasting. '^ I had 
better tell you at once," continued Mr. Ap- 
john, " what we want to do now." 

" What is it you want to do now ? I sup- 
pose I have got to go into the assizes all the 
same on Friday ?" 


" That depends. It is just possible that it 
should turn out to be unnecessary.^' 

As he said this, he looked into Cousin 
Henry's face, and thought that he discerned 
something of satisfaction. When he made 
the suggestion, he understood well how great 
was the temptation offered in the prospect of 
not having to encounter Mr. Cheekey. , 

" Both Mr. Brodrick and I think it probable 
that your uncle's last will may yet be con- 
cealed somewhere in the house." Cousin 
Henry's eye, as this was said, again glanced 
up at the fatal shelf. 

'' When Mr. Apjohn says that in my name," 
said Mr. Brodrick, opening his mouth for the 
first time, ^' you must understand that I per- 
sonally know nothing of the circumstances. I 
am guided in my opinion only by what he 
tells me." 

"Exactly," said Mr. Apjohn. ''As the 
father of the young lady who would be the 
heiress of Llanf eare if you were not the heir. 


I have of course told him everything, — even 
down to the most secret surmises of my 

" All right/' said Cousin Henry. 

'^ My position/' continued Mr. Apjohn, ^' is 
painful and very peculiar; but I find myself 
specially bound to act as the lawyer of the 
deceased, and to carry out whatever was in 
truth his last will and testament.'' 

" I thought that was proved at Carmarthen," 
said Cousin Henry. 

" No doubt. A will was proved,— a will that 
was very genuine if no subsequent will be 
found. But, as you have been told repeatedly, 
the proving of that will amounts to nothing 
if a subsequent one be forthcoming. The 
great question is this ; Does a subsequent will 
exist ? " 

" How am I to know anything about 

'' Nobody says you do." 

'^1 suppose you wouldn't come here and 


bring my uncle Brodrick down on me^ — giving 
me no notice, but coming into my house 
just when I am a.t breakfast, without saying a 
word to any one, — unless you thought so. I 
don^t see what right you have to be here at 
all ! '' 

He was trying to pluck up his spirit in 
order that he might get rid of them. Why, 
oh ! why had he not destroyed that docu- 
ment when, on the previous night, it had 
been brought out from its hiding-place, pur- 
posely in order that it might be burned ? 

" It is common, Mr. Jones, for one gentle- 
man to call upon another when there is busi- 
ness to be done,'' said Mr. Apjohn. 

'^But not common to come to a gentle- 
man's house and accuse him of making away 
with a will." 

"Nobody has done that," said Mr. Brod- 

" It is very like it." 

" Will you allow us to search again ? Two 


of my clerks will be here just now, and will go 
through the house with us, if you will permit 

Cousin Heniy sat staring at them. Not 
long ago he had himself asked one of Mr. 
Apjohn^s clerks why they did not search 
again. But then the framing of his thoughts 
had been different. At that moment he had 
been desirous of surrendering Llanfeare alto- 
gether, so that he might also get rid of Mr. 
Cheekey. Now he had reached a bolder pur- 
pose. Now he was resolved to destroy the 
will, enjoy the property, and face the barris- 
ter. An idea came across his mind that they 
would hardly insist upon searching instantly 
if he refused. A petition to that effect had 
already been made, and a petition implies the 
power of refusal on the part of him petitioned. 

*^ Where do you want to look ? " he asked. 

Upon this Mr. Brodrick allowed his eyes to 
wander round the room. And Cousin Henry's 
eyes followed those of his uncle, which 


seemed to him to settle themselves exactly 
upon the one shelf. 

'' To search the house generally ; your 
uncle^s bed-room, for instance/^ said Mr. Ap- 

'^ Oh, yes ; you can go there.'' This he 
said with an ill-formed, crude idea which 
sprang to his mind at the moment. If they 
would ascend to the bed-room, then he could 
seize the will when left alone and* destroy it 
instantly, — eat it bit by bit if it were neces- 
sary, — go with it oat of the house and reduce 
it utterly to nothing before he returned. He 
was still a free agent, and could go and come 
as he pleased. "Oh, yes; you can go 

But this was not at all the scheme which 
had really formed itself in Mr. Apjohn's brain. 
" Or perhaps we might begin here," he 
said. " There are my two clerks just arrived 
in the fly." 

Cousin Henry became first red and then 


pale, and lie endeavoured to see in what di- 
rection Mr. Brodrick liad fixed his eye. Mr. 
Apjohn himself had not as yet looked any- 
where round the books. He had sat close at the 
table, with his gaze fixed on Cousin Henry^s 
face, as Cousin Henry had been well aware. 
If they began to search in the room, they 
would certainly find the document. Of that 
he was quite sure. Not a book would be left 
without having been made to disclose all that 
it might contain between its leaves. If 
there was any chance left to him, it must be 
seized now, — now at this very moment. Sud- 
denly the possession of Llanfeare was en- 
deared to him by a thousand charms. Sud- 
denly all fear of eternal punishment passed 
away from his thoughts. Suddenly he was 
permeated by a feeling of contrition for his 
own weakness in having left the document 
unharmed. Suddenly he was brave against 
Mr. Cheekey, as would be a tiger against a 
lion. Suddenly there arose in his breast a 

MK. apjohn's success. 161 

great desire to save tlie will even yet from 
the hands of these Philistines. 

'^ This is my private room," he said. ^^ When 
I am eating my breakfast I cannot let you 
disturb me like that." 

'^ In a matter such as this you wouldn't 
think of your own comfort ! " said Mr. Ap- 
john severely. '^ Comfort, indeed ! What 
comfort can you have while the idea is pre- 
sent to you that this house in which you 
live may possibly be the property of your 
cousin ? " 

'^It's very little comfort youVe left me 
among you." 

" Face it out, then, like a man ; and when 
you have allowed us to do all that we can 
on her behalf, then enjoy your own, and talk 
of comfort. Shall I have the men in and go 
on with the search as I propose ? " 

If they were to find it, — as certainly they 
would, — then surely they would not accuse 
him of having hidden it ! He would be 


enabled to act some show of surprise, and 
they would not dare to contradict him, even 
should they feel sure in their hearts that 
he had been aware of the concealment ! There 
would be great relief! There would be an 
end of so many troubles ! But then how weak 
he would have been, — to have had the prize 
altogether within his grasp and to have lost 
it ! A burst of foul courage swelled in his 
heart, changing the very colour of his charac- 
ter for a time as he resolved that it should 
not be so. The men could not search there, 
— so he told himself, — without further autho- 
rity than that which Mr. Apjohn could give 
them. " I won't be treated in this way ! '^ he 

'' In what way do you mean, Mr. Jones ? " 
" I won''t have my house searched as though 
I were a swindler and a thief. Can you go 
mto any man^s house and search it just as 
you please, merely because you are an attor- 


'^You told my man the other daj/^ said 
Mr. Apjohn, '^ that we might renew the search 
if we pleased/' 

''So jou may; but you must get an 
order first from somebody. You are no- 

''You are quite right/' said Mr. Apjohn, 
who was not at all disposed to be angry in re- 
gard to any observation offered personally to 
himself. " But surely it would be better for 
you that this should be done privately. Of 
course we can have a search-warrant if it be 
necessary ; but then there must be a police- 
man to carry it out." 

" What do I care for policemen ? " said 
Cousin Henry. "It is you who have treated 
me badly from first to last. I will do nothing 
further at your bidding." 

Mr. Apjohn looked at Mr. Brodrick, 
and Mr. Brodrick looked at Mr. Apjohn. 
The strange attorney would do nothmg 
without directions from the other, and the 

M 2 


attorney wlio was more at home was for a 
few moments a little in doubt. He got up 
from his chair, and walked about the room, 
while Cousin Henry, standing also, watched 
every movement which he made. Cousin Henry 
took his place at the further end of the table 
from the fire, about six feet from the spot on 
which all his thoughts were intent. There he 
stood, ready for action while the attorney 
walked up and down the room meditating 
what it would be best that he should do next. 
As he walked he seem to carry his nose in the 
air, with a gait different from what was usual 
to him. Cousin Henry had already learned 
something of the man^s ways, and was aware 
that his manner was at present strange. Mr. 
Apjohn was in truth looking along the rows 
of the books. In old days he had often been 
in that room, and had read many of the titles 
as given on the backs. He knew the nature 
of many of the books collected there, and was 
aware that but verv few of them had ever 


been moved from their places in tlie old 
Sqnire's time for any purpose of use. He did 
not wisli to stand and inspect them, — not as 
yet. He walked on as though collecting his 
thoughts, and as he walked he endeavoured to 
fix on some long set of sermons. He had in 
his mind some glimmering of a remembrance 
that there was such a set of books in the 
room. " You might as well let us do as we 
propose/^ he said. 

" Certainly not. To tell you the truth, I 
wish you would go away, and leave me.'' 

'^ Mr. Cheekey will hear all about it, and 
how will you be able to answer Mr. 
Cheekey ? '' 

^' I don't care about Mr. Cheekey. Who 
is to tell Mr. Cheekey? Will you tell 
him ? " 

'' I cannot take your part, you know, if you 
behave like this." 

As he spoke, Mr. Apjohn had stopped his 
walk, and was standing with his back close 


to the book-shelves, with the back of his head 
almost touching the set of Jeremy Taylor's 
works. There were ten volumes of them, and 
he was standing exactly in front of them. 
Cousin Henry was just in front of him, doubt- 
ing whether his enemy's position had not 
been chosen altogether by accident, but still 
trembling at the near approach. He was pre- 
pared for a spring if it was necessary. Any- 
thing should be hazarded now, so that discovery 
might be avoided. Mr. Brodrick was still 
seated in the chair which he had at first occu- 
pied, waiting till that order should be given 
to him to go for the magistrate's warrant. 

Mr. Apjohn's eye had caught the author's 
name on the back of the book, and he remem- 
bered at once that he had seen the volume, — 
a volume with Jeremy Taylor's name on the 
back of it, — lying on the old man's table. 
^^ Jeremy Taylor's Works. Sermons." He 
remembered the volume. That had been a 
long time ago, — six months ago; but the old 


man miglit probably take a long time over so 
heavy a book. "You will let me look at 
some of tliese/^ lie said, pointing with his 
thumb over his back. 

"You shall not touch a book without a 
regular order/^ said Cousin Henry. 

Mr. Apjohn fixed the man's eye for a mo- 
ment. He was the smaller man of the two, 
and much the elder; but he was wiry, well 
set, and strong. The other was soft, and un- 
used to much bodily exercise. There could be 
no doubt as to which would have the best of 
it in a personal struggle. Very quickly he 
turned round and got his hand on one of the 
set, but not on the right one. Cousin 
Henry dashed at him, and in the struggle the 
book fell to the ground. Then the attorney 
seized him by the throat, and dragged him 
forcibly back to the table. " Take them all 
out one by one, and shake them,'^ he said to 
the other attorney, — " that set like the one on 
the floor. I'll hold him while you do it." 


Mr. Brodrick did as lie was told, and^ one 
by one, beginning from tbe last volume, he 
shook them all till lie came to volume 4. Out 
of that fell the document. 

" Is it the will ? " shouted Mr. Apjohn, with 
hardly breath enough to utter the words. 

Mr. Brodrick, with a lawyer's cautious hands, 
undid the folds, and examined the document. 
'' It certainly is a will,'^ he said, — '^ and is 
signed by my brother-in-law '' 




It was a moment of great triumph and of 
utter dismay, — of triumph to Mr. Apjohn, and 
of dismay to Cousin Henry. The two men at 
this moment, — as Mr. Brodrick was looking 
at the papers, — were struggling together upon 
the ground. Cousin Henry, in his last frantic 
efforts, had striven to escape from the grasp of 
his enemy so as to seize the will, not remem- 
bering that by seizing it now he could retrieve 
nothing. Mr. Apjohn had been equally deter- 
mined that ample time should be allowed to 
Mr. Brodrick to secure any document that might 
be found, and, with the pugnacity which the 
state of fighting always produces, had held on 


to his prey with a firm grip. Now for the 
one man there remained nothing but dismay ; 
for the other was the full enjoyment of the 
triumph produced by his own sagacity. ''^Here 
is the date/^ said Mr. Brodrick^ who had re- 
treated with the paper to the furthest corner 
of the room. '' It is undoubtedly my brother- 
in-law's last will and testament, and, as far as 
I can see at a glance, it is altogether regular.'^ 
'^ You dog ! " exclaimed Mr. Apjohn, 
spurning Cousin Henry away from him. " You 
wretched, thieving miscreant ! ^' Then he got 
up on to his legs and began to adjust himself, 
setting his cravat right, and smoothing his 
hair with his hands. " The brute has knocked 
the breath out of me,'^ he said. "But only 
to think that we should catch him after 
such a fashion as this ! '^ There was a note of 
triumph in his voice which he found it impos- 
sible to repress. He was thoroughly proud of 
his achievement. It was a grand thing to him 
that Isabel Brodrick should at last get the 


property whicli he had so long been anxious 
to secure for her ; but at the present moment 
it was a grander thing to have hit the exact 
spot in which the document had been hidden 
by sheer force of intelligence. 

What little power of fighting there had ever 
been in Cousin Henry had now been altogether 
knocked out of him. He attempted no fur- 
ther struggle, uttered no denial, nor did he 
make any answer to the words of abuse which 
Mr. Apjohn had heaped on his head. He too 
raised himself from the floor, slowly collecting 
his limbs together, and seated himself in the 
chair nearest at hand, hiding his face with his 

" That is the most wonderful thing that 
ever came within my experience,'^ said Mr. 

''That the man should have hidden the 
will ? '' asked Mr. Apjohn. 

" Why do you say I hid it ? '' moaned Cousin 


" You reptile ! '' exclaimed Mr. Apjolin. 

'^ Not that lie should have hidden it/' said 
the Hereford attorney, ^^ but that you should 
have found it, and found it without any search; 
— that you should have traced it down to the 
very book in which the old man must have 
left it ! '' 

^^Yes," said Cousin Henry. "He left it 
there. I did not hide it.*' 

^^Do you mean/' said Mr. Apjohn, turning 
upon him with all the severity of which he 
was capable, ^' do you mean to say that dur- 
ing all this time you have not known that the 
will was there ? " The wretched man opened 
his mouth and essayed to speak, but not a 
word came. "Do you mean to tell us that 
when you refused us just now permission to 
search this room, though you were willing 
enough that we should search elsewhere, you 
were not acquainted with the hiding-place ? 
When I asked you in my office the other day 
whether you knew where the will was hidden, 


and you wo uldn^t answer me for very fear, though 
you were glib enough in swearing that you 
had not hidden it yourself, then you knew no- 
thing about the book and its enclosure ? When 
you told Mr. Griffith down at Coed that you 
had something to divulge, were you not then 
almost driven to tell the truth by your das- 
tardly cowardice as to this threatened trial ? 
And did you not fail again because you were 
afraid ? You mean poltroon ! Will you dare to 
say before us, now, that when we entered the 
room this morning you did not know what that 
book contained ? " Cousin Henry once more 
opened his mouth, but no word came. " An- 
swer me, sir, if you wish to escape any part of 
the punishment which you have deserved.^^ 

" You should not ask him to criminate him- 
self,^^ said Mr. Brodrick. 

" No ! " shrieked Cousin Henry ; " no ! he 
shouldn^t ask a fellow to tell against himself. 
It isn't fair ; is it. Uncle Brodrick ? '" 

" If I hadn't made you tell against yourself 


one way or another/' said Mr. Apjohn, ^' tlie 
will would have been there still, and we 
should all have been in the dark. There are 
occasions in which the truth must be screwed 
out of a man. We have screwed it out of you, 
you miserable creature ! Brodrick, let us look 
at the paper. I suppose it is all right.'' He 
was so elated by the ecstasy of his success that 
he hardly knew how to contain himself. There 
was no prospect to him of any profit in all 
this. It might, indeed, well be that all the 
expenses incurred, including the handsome 
honorarium which would still have to be paid 
to Mr. Cheekey, must come out of his own 
pocket. But the glory of the thing was too 
great to admit of any considerations such as 
those. For the last month his mind had been 
exercised with the question of this will, 
whether there was such a will or not, and, if 
so, where was its hiding-place? Now he 
had brought his month's labour, his month's 
speculation, and his month's anxiety to a 


supreme success. In his present frame of mind 
it was nothing to him who might pay the bill. 
'^As far as I can see/^ said Mr. Brodrick^ 
" it is altogether in order.^' 

"Let us look at it." Then Mr. Apjohn, 
stretching out his hand, took the document, 
and, seating himself in Cousin Henry's own 
chair at the breakfast-table, read it through 
carefully from beginning to end. It was won- 
derful, — the exactness with which the old 
Squire had copied, not only every word, but 
every stop and every want of a stop in the 
preceding will. " It is my own work, every 
morsel of it," said Mr. Apjohn, with thorough 
satisfaction. '^ Why on earth did he not burn 
the intermediate one which he made in this 
rascal's favour," — then he indicated the rascal 
by a motion of his head — " and make it all 
straight in that way ? " 

" There are men who think that a will once 
made should never be destroyed," suggested 
Mr. Brodrick. 


'^ I suppose it was something of that kind. 
He was a fine old fellow, but as obstinate as a 
mule. Well, what are we to do now ? '' 

" My nephew will have to consult his lawyer 
whether he will wish to dispute this docu- 
ment or not." 

'' I do not want to dispute anything/* said 
Cousin Henry, whining. 

" Of course he will be allowed time to think 
of it," said Mr. Apjohn. "He is in posses- 
sion now, and will have plenty of time. He 
will have to answer some rather diflB.cult ques- 
tions from Mr. Cheekey on Friday." 

" Oh, no ! " shouted the victim. 

" I am afraid it must be ^ oh, yes,' Mr. Jones ! 
How are you to get out of it ; eh ? You are 
bound over to prosecute Mr. Evans, of the 
Herald, for defamation of character. Of course 
it will come out at the trial that we have found 
this document. Indeed, I shall be at no 
trouble to conceal the fact, — nor, I suppose, 
will be Mr. Brodrick. Why should we ? " 


"I thoiiglit you were acting as my law- 

'^ So I was, — and so I am, — and so I will. 
While you were supposed to be an honest man, 
— or, rather, while it was possible that it might 
be so supposed, — I told you what, as an honest 
man, you were bound to do. The Carmarthen 
Herald knew that you were not honest, — and 
said so. If you are prepared to go into the 
court and swear that you knew nothing of the 
existence of this document, that you were not 
aware that it was concealed in that book, that 
you did nothing to prevent us from looking 
for it this morning, I will carry on the case 
for you. If I am called into the witness-box 
against you, of course I must give my evi- 
dence for what it is worth ; — and Mr. Brodrick 
must do the same.'' 

" But it won't go on ? " he asked. 

''Not if you are prepared to admit that 
there was no libel in all that the newspaper 
said. If you agree that it was all true, then 


you will have to pay the costs on both sides^ and 
the indictment can be quashed. It will be a 
serious admission to make, but perhaps that 
won^t signify, seeing what your position as to 
character will he." 

" I think you are almost too hard upon him/' 
said Mr. Brodrick. 

" Am I ? Can one be too hard on a man 
who has acted as he has done ? " 

" He is hard,— isn't he, Mr. Brodrick ? '' 

"Hard! Why, yes; — I should think I am. 
I mean to be hard. I mean to go on tram- 
pling you to pieces till I see your cousin. Miss 
Brodrick, put into full possession of this estate. 
I don't mean to leave you a loop-hole of escape 
by any mercy. At the . present moment you 
are Henry Jones, Esq., of Llanfeare, and will 
be so till you are put out by the hard hand of 
the law. You may turn round for anything I 
know, and say that this document is a for- 

"No, no!" 


" That Mr. Brodrick and I brouglit it here 
with us and put it in the book.^' 

" I sha'n^t say anything of the kind.'' 

" Who did put it there ? '' Cousin Henry 
sobbed and groaned, but said nothing. '^ Who 
did put it there ? If you want to soften our 
hearts to you in any degree, if you wish us to 
contrive some mode of escape for you, tell the 
truth. Who put the will into that book ? " 

'' How am I to know ? '' 

"You do know ! Who put it there ? '' 

" I suppose it was Uncle Indefer.'' 

" And you had seen it there ? '' Again 
Cousin Henry sobbed and groaned. 

" You should hardly ask him that," said Mr. 

" Yes ! If any good can be done for him, it 
must be by making him feel that he must 
help us by making our case easy for us. You 
had seen it there ? Speak the word, and we 
will do all we can to let you off easily." 

" Just by an accident," said he. 

N 2 


" You did see it, then ? " 

" Yes ; — I chanced to see it/^ 

"Yes; of course you did. And then the 
Devil went to work with you and prompted 
you to destroy it ? ^' He paused as though 
asking a question, but to this question Cousin 
Henry found it impossible to make any an- 
swer. '^But the Devil had not quite hold 
enough over you to make you do that ? It was 
so; — was it not? There was a conscience 
with you ? '^ 

" Oh, yes/' 

" But the conscience was not strong enough 
to force you to give it up when you found it t'* 
Cousin Henry now burst out into open tears. 
'' That was about it, I suppose ? If you can 
bring yourself to make a clean breast of it, it 
will be easier for you.^' 

" May I go back to London at once ? '^ he 

" Well ; as to that, I think we had better 
take some little time for consideration. But I 


think I may say tliat^ if you will make our way 
easy for us, we will endeavour to make yours 
easy for you. You acknowledge this to be 
your uncle's will as far as you know ? '' 

'^ Oh, yes.'' 

^^ You acknowledge that Mr. Brodrick found 
it in this book which I now hold in my 
hand ? " 

" I acknowledge that." 

" This is all that I will ask you to sign your 
name to. As for the rest, it is sufficient that 
you have confessed the truth to your uncle and 
to me. I will just write a few lines that you 
shall sign, and then we will go back to Car- 
marthen and do the best we can to prevent the 
trial for next Friday." Thereupon Mr. Ap- 
john rang the bell, and asked Mrs. Griffith to 
bring him paper and ink. With these he 
wrote a letter addressed to himself, which he 
invited Cousin Henry to sign as soon as he 
had read it aloud to him and to Mr. Brodrick. 
The letter contained simply the two admissions 


above stated^ and then went on to authorize 
Mr. Apjolin, as the writer^s attorney, to with- 
draw the indictment against the proprietor of 
the Carmarthen Herald, "in consequence/^ as 
the letter said, '* of the question as to the pos- 
session of Llanfeare having been settled now in 
an unexpected manner/' 

When the letter was completed, the two 
lawyers went away, and Cousin Henry was 
left to his own meditation. He sat there for 
a while, so astounded by the transaction of the 
morning as to be unable to collect his thoughts. 
All this that had agitated him so profoundly 
for the last month had been set at rest by the 
finding of the will. There was no longer any 
question as to what must be done. Everything 
had been done. He was again a London 
clerk, with a small sum of money besides his 
clerkship, and the security of lowliness into 
which to fall back ! If only they would be 
silent; — if only it might be thought by his 
fellow-clerks in London that the will had been 


found by tliem witliout any knowledge on his 
part, — tlien he would be satisfied. A terrible 
catastrophe had fallen upon him, but one 
which would not be without consolation if with 
the estate might be made to pass away from 
him all responsibilities and all accusations as 
to the estate. That terrible man had almost 
promised him that a way of retreat should be 
made easy to him. At any rate, he would not 
be cross-examined Mr. Cheekey. At any 
rate, he would not be brought to trial. There 
was almost a promise, too, that as little should 
be said as possible. There must, he supposed, 
be some legal form of abdication on his part, 
but he was willing to execute that as quickly as 
possible on the simple condition that he should 
be allowed to depart without being forced to 
speak further ou the matter to any one in 
Wales. Not to have to see the tenants, not to 
have to say even a word of farewell to the 
servants, not to be carried into Carmarthen, — 
above all, not to face Mr. Cheekey and the 


Courts — this was all lie asked now from a 
kind Fate. 

At about two Mrs. Griffith came into tlie 
room, ostensibly to take away the breakfast 
things. She had seen the triumphant face of 
Mr. Apjohn, and knew that some victory had 
been gained. But when she saw that the 
breakfast had not been touched, her heart be- 
came soft. The way to melt the heart of a 
Mrs. Griffith is to eat nothing. '^Laws, Mr. 
Jones, you have not had a mouthful. Shall I 
do you a broil ? '^ He assented to the broil, 
and ate it, when it was cooked, with a better 
appetite than he had enjoyed since his uncle's 
death. Gradually he came to feel that a great 
load had been taken from off his shoulders. 
The will was no longer hidden in the book. 
Nothing had been done of which he could not 
repent. There was no prospect of a life be- 
fore him made horrid by one great sin. He 
could not be Squire of Llanf eare ; nor would he 
be a felon, — a felon always in his own esteem. 


Upon the whole, thougli he hardly admitted as 
much to himself, the man's condition had been 
improved by the transactions of the morning. 

**^ You don't quite agree with all that I have 
done this morning/' said Mr. Apjohn, as soon 
as the two lawyers were in the fly together. 

'^ I am lost in admiration at the clearness of 
your insight." 

'' Ah ! that comes of giving one's undivided 
thoughts to a matter. I have been turning it 
over in my mind till I have been able to see it 
all. It was odd, wasn't it, that I should have 
foretold to you all that happened, almost to the 
volume ? " 

'^ Quite to the volume ! " 

'^ Well, yes ; to the volume of sermons. Your 
brother-in-law read nothing but sermons. 
But you thought I shouldn't have asked those 

" I don't like making a man criminate him- 
self," said Mr. Brodrick. 

'' Nor do I, — if I mean to criminate him too. 


My object is to let him off. Bat to enable us 
to do that we must know exactly what he 
knew and what he had done. Shall I tell you 
what occurred to me when you shook the will 
out of the book ? How would it be if he de- 
clared that we had brought it with us ? If he 
had been sharp enough for that, the very fact 
of our having gone to the book at once would 
have been evidence against us." 

'^ He was not up to it." 

^^ No, poor devil ! I am inclined to think 
that he has got as bad as he deserves. He 
might have been so much worse. We owe him 
ever so much for not destroying the will. His 
cousin will have to give him the 4000Z. which 
he was to have given her." 

" Certainly, certainly." 

^^ He has been hardly used, you know, by 
his uncle ; and, upon my word, he has had a 
bad time of it for the last month. I wouldn't 
have been hated and insulted as he has been 
by those people up there, — not for all Llan- 


feare twice over. I think weVe quenched him 
nowj SO that he^ll run smooth. If so, we^U let 
him off easily. If I had treated him less 
hardly just now, he might have gathered cou- 
rage and turned upon us. Then it would 
have been necessary to crush him altogether. 
I was thinking all through how we might 
let him off easiest." 



The news was soon all about Carmarthen. A 
new will had been founds in accordance with 
which Miss Brodrick was to become owner of 
Llanfeare^ and^ — which was of more impor- 
tance to Carmarthen at the present moment, 
— there was to be no trial ! The story, as told 
publicly, was as follows ; — Mr. Apjohn, by his 
sagacity, had found the will. It had been 
concealed in a volume of sermons, and Mr. 
Apjohn, remembering suddenly that the old 
man had been reading these sermons shortly 
before his death, had gone at once to the book. 
There the will had been discovered, which had 
at once been admitted to be a true and formal 


document by tlie unhappy pseudo-proprietor. 
Henry Jones had acknowledged his cousin to 
be the heiress, and under these circumstances 
had conceived it to be useless to go on with 
the trial. Such was the story told, and Mr. 
Apjohn, fully aware that the story went very 
lame on one leg, did his best to remedy the 
default by explaining that it would be unreason- 
able to expect that a man should come into 
court and undergo an examination by Mr. 
Cheekey just when he had lost a fine property. 
'' Of course I know all that/^ said Mr. Ap- 
john, when the editor of the paper remarked 
to him that the libel, if a libel, would be just 
as much a libel whether Mr. Henry Jones were 
or were not the owner of Llanfeare. " Of 
course I know all that ; but you are hardly to 
expect that a man is to come and assert him- 
self amidst a cloud of difficulties when he has 
just undergone such a misfortune as that ! 
You have had your fling, and are not to be 
punished for it. That ought to satisfy you."" 


'^ And who'll pay all the expenses ? '' asked 
Mr. Evans. 

"Well/' said Mr. Apjohn, scratching his 
head ; " you, of course, will have to pay 
nothing. Geary will settle all that with 
me. That poor devil at Llanfeare ought to 


" He won't have the money." 

"' I, at any rate, will make it all right with 
Geary ; so that needn't trouble you." 

This question as to the expense was much 
discussed by others in Carmarthen, Who 
in truth would pay the complicated lawyers' 
bill which must have been occasioned, in- 
cluding all these flys out to Llanfeare ? In 
spite of Mr. Apjohn's good-natured explana- 
tions, the public of Carmarthen was quite 
convinced that Henry Jones had in truth hid- 
den the will. If so, he ought not only 
to be made to pay for everything, but be 
sent to prison also and tried for felony. 
The opinion concerning Cousin Henry in 


Carmartlien on the Thursday and Friday was 
very severe indeed. Had he shown himself in 
the town, he would almost have been pulled in 
pieces. To kill him and to sell his carcase 
for what it might fetch towards lessening the 
expenses which he had incurred would not be 
too bad for him. Mr. Apjohn was_, of course, 
the hero of the hour, and, as far as Carmar- 
then could see, Mr. Apjohn would have to 
pay the bill. All this, spoken as it was 
by many mouths, reached Mr. Brodrick^s ears, 
and induced him to say a word or two to Mr. 

" This affair,^' said he, " will of course be- 
come a charge upon the property ? ^' 

" What affair ? " 

" This trial which is not to take place, and 
the rest of it." 

'^ The trial will have nothing to do with the 
estate," said Mr. Apjohn. 

" It has everything to do with it. I only 
mention it now to let you know that, as Isabels 


fatter^ I shall make it my business to look 
after that/' 

'^ The truth is, Brodrick/'' said the Carmar- 
then attorney, with that gleam of triumph in 
his eye which had been so often seen there 
since the will had tumbled out of the volume 
of sermons in the book-room, "the whole of 
this matter has been such a pleasure to me 
that I don^t care a straw about the costs. If 
I paid for it all from, beginning to end 
out of my own pocket, I should have had my 
whack for my money. Perhaps Miss Isabel 
will recompense me by letting me make her 
will some day.'' 

Such were the feelings and such were the 
words spoken at Carmarthen ; and it need only 
be said further, in regard to Carmarthen, that 
the operations necessary for proving the 
later will and annulling the former one, for 
dispossessing Cousin Henry and for putting 
Isabel into the full fruition of all her honours, 
went on as quickly as it could be effected by 


the concentrated energy of Mr. Apjohn and all 
his clerks. 

Cousin Henry, to whom we may be now 
allowed to bid farewell, was permitted to remain 
within the seclusion of the house at Llanfeare 
till his signature had been obtained to the last 
necessary document. No one spoke a word to 
him ; no one came to see him. If there were 
intruders about the place anxious to catch a 
glimpse of the pseudo-Squire, they were dis- 

Mrs. Griffith, under the attorney's instruc- 
tions, was more courteous to him than she 
had been when he was her master. She en- 
deavoured to get him things nice to eat, 
trying to console him by titbits. None of 
the tenants appeared before him, nor was 
there a rough word spoken to him, even by 
young Cantor. 

In all this Cousin Henry did feel some con- 
solation, and was greatly comforted when he 
heard from the office in London that his 


stool at the desk was still kept open for 

The Carmarthen Herald, in its final allu- 
sion to the state of things at Llanfeare, simply 
decWed that the proper will had been found 
at last, and that Miss Isabel Brodrick was to 
be restored to her rights. Guided by this 
statement, the directors in London were con- 
tented to regard their clerk as having been 
unfortunate rather than guilty. 

For the man himself, the reader, it is hoped, 
will feel some compassion. He had been 
dragged away from London by false hopes. 
After so great an injury as that inflicted on 
him by the last change in the Squire^s purpose 
it was hardly unnatural that the idea of retalia- 
tion should present itself to him when the 
opportunity came in his way. Not to do that 
which justice demands is so much easier to 
the conscience than to commit a deed which 
is palpably fraudulent ! At the last his con- 
science saved him, and Mr. Apjohn will perhaps 


be thouglit to have been right in declaring 
that much was due to him in that he had not 
destroyed the will. His forbearance was re- 
compensed fully. 

As soon as the money could be raised on the 
property, the full sum of 4000L was paid to 
him, that having been the amount with which 
the Squire had intended to burden the property 
on behalf of his niece when he was minded to 
put her out of the inheritance. 

It may be added that, notorious as the whole 
affair was at Carmarthen, but little of Cousin 
Henry's wicked doings were known up in 

We must now go back to Hereford. By 

agreement between the two lawyers, no 

tidings of her good fortune were at once sent 

to Isabel. ^^ There is so many a slip 'twixt 

the cup and the lip,'' said Mr. Apjohn to her 

uncle. But early in the following week Mr. 

Brodrick himself took the news home with 


o 2 


" My dear/^ he said to her as soon as lie 
found himself alone with her, — having given 
her intimation that an announcement of great 
importance was to be made to her_, — ^' it turns 
out that after all your Uncle Indefer did make 
another will/^ 

" I was always quite sure of that, papa/^ 

" How were you sure ? '^ 

'^ He told me so, papa/' 

'^ He told you so ! I never heard that 

*^ He did, — when he was dying. What was 
the use of talking of it? But has it been 

''It was concealed within a book in the 
library. As soon as the necessary deeds can 
be executed Llanfeare will be your own. It 
is precisely word for word the same as that 
which he had made before he sent for your 
Cousin Henry." 

♦' Then Henry has not destroyed it ? " 

'' No, he did not destroy it." 


" Nor hid it where we could not find it ? '^ 

''Nor did he hide it/^ 

'' Oh, how I have wronged him ; — how I 
have injured him ! ^' 

'' About that we need say nothing, Isabel. 
You have not injured him. But we may let 
all that pass away. The fact remains that you 
are the heiress of Llanfeare.'' 

■ Of course he did by degrees explain to her 
all the circumstances, — how the will had been 
found and not revealed, and how far Cousin 
Henry had sinned in the matter ; but it was 
agreed between them that no further evil should 
be said in the family as to their unfortunate 
relative. The great injury which he might 
have done to them he had abstained from 

''Papa,^^ she said to her father when they were 
again together alone that same evening, '' you 
must tell all this to Mr. Owen. You must tell 
him everything, just as you have told me.^' 

'' Certainly, my dear, if you wish it.^' 


^a do wish it/' 

" Why should you not have the pleasure of 
telling him yourself ? '' 

" It would not be a pleasure, and therefore 
I will get you to do it. My pleasure, if there 
be any pleasure in it, must come afterwards. 
I want him to know it before I see him my- 

" He will be sure to have some stupid 
notion,^' said her father, smiling. 

" I want him to have his notion, whether it 
be stupid or otherwise, before I see him. If 
you do not mind, papa, going to him as soon 
as possible, I shall be obliged to you.'' 

Isabel, when she found herself alone, had 
her triumph also. She was far from being 
dead to the delights of her inheritance. There 
had been a period in her life in which she had 
regarded it as her certain destiny to be the 
possessor of Llanfeare, and she had been proud 
of the promised position. The tenants had 
known her as the future owner of the acres 


which they cultivated^ and had entertained for 
her and shown to her much genuine love. She 
had made herself acquainted with every home- 
stead, landmark, and field about the place. 
She had learnt the wants of the poor, and the 
requirements of the little school. Everything 
at Llanfeare had had an interest for her. Then 
had come that sudden change in her nucleus 
feelings, — that new idea of duty, — and she 
had borne it like a heroine. Not only had she 
never said a word of reproach to him, but she 
had sworn to herself that even in her own 
heart she would throw no blame upon him. A 
great blow had come upon her, but she had 
taken it as though it had come from the 
hand of the Almighty, — as it might have been 
had she lost her eyesight, or been struck with 
palsy. She promised herself that it should be 
so, and she had had strength to be as good as 
her word. She had roused herself instantly 
from the effect of the blow, and, after a day of 
consideration, had been as capable as ever to 


do the work of her life. Then had come her 
uncle's last sickness, those spoken but doubt- 
fal words, her uncle's death, and that convic- 
tion that her cousin was a felon. Then she 
had been unhappy, and had found it difficult 
to stand up bravely against misfortune. Added 
to this had been her stepmother's taunts and 
her father's distress at the resolution she had 
taken. The home to which she had returned 
had been thoroughly unhappy to her. And 
there had been her stern purpose not to give 
her hand to the man who loved her and whom 
she so dearly loved ! She was sure of her pur- 
pose, and yet she was altogether discontented 
with herself. She was sure that she would 
hold by her purpose, and yet she feared that 
her purpose was wrong. She had refused the 
man when she was rich, and her pride would 
not let her go to him now that she was 
poor. She was sure of her purpose, — but 
yet she almost knew that her pride was 


But now there would be a triumpli. Her 
eyes gleamed brightly as she thought of the 
way in which she would achieve her triumph. 
Her eyes gleamed very brighty as she felt sure 
within her own bosom that she would succeed. 
Yes : he would_, no doubt, have some stupid 
notion, as her father said. But she would 
overcome his stupidity. She, as a woman, 
could be stronger than he as a man. He had 
almost ridiculed her obstinacy, swearing that 
he would certainly overcome it. There should 
be no ridicule on her part, but she would cer- 
tainly overcome his obstinacy. 

For a day or two Mr. Owen was not seen. 
She heard from her father that the tidings had 
been told to her lover, but she heard no more. 
Mr. Owen did not show himself at the house ; 
and she, indeed, hardly expected that he should 
do so. Her stepmother suddenly became 
gracious, — having no difficulty in explaining 
that she did so because of the altered position 
of things. 


"My dearest Isabel, it does make sucli a 
difference ! ^' she said ; " you will be a ricli 
lady, and will never have to think about the 
price of shoes /^ The sisters were equally 
plain-spoken, and were almost awe-struck in 
their admiration. 

Three or four days after the return of Mr. 
Brodrick, Isabel took her bonnet and shawl, 
and walked away all alone to Mr. Owen^s 
lodgings. She knew his habits, and was aware 
that he was generally to be found at home for 
an hour before his dinner. It was no time, 
she said to herself, to stand upon little punc- 
tilios. There had been too much between them 
to let there be any question of a girl going 
after her lover. She was going after her lover, 
and she didn't care who knew it. Nevertheless, 
there was a blush beneath her veil as she asked 
at the door whether Mr. Owen was at home. 
Mr. Owen was at home, and she was shown at 
once into his parlour. 

" William,^' she said ; — throughout their 


intimacy slie had never called him William 
before ; — ^'you have heard my news ? '^ 

^' Yes/' he said, " I have heard it ;'' — very 
seriously, with none of that provoking smile 
with which he had hitherto responded to all 
her assertions. 

" And you have not come to congratulate 
me ? '^ 

'^ I should have done so. I do own that I 
have been wrong.'' 

^' Wrong ; — very wrong ! How was I to 
have any of the enjoyment of my restored 
rights unless you came to enjoy them with 

^' They can be nothing to me, Isabel." 

" They shall be everything to you, sir." 

'^ No, my dear." 

''They are to be everything to me, and 
they can be nothing to me without you. 
You know that, I suppose?" Then she 
waited for his reply. ''You know that, do 
you not ? You know what I feel about that, 


I saj. Why do you not tell me ? Have you 
any doubt ? '^ 

'^Things have been unkind to us^ Isabel, 
and have separated us/^ 

^'^ Nothing shall separate us." Then she 
paused for a moment. She had thought 
of it all, and now had to pause before she 
could execute her purpose. She had got 
her plan ready, but it required some courage, 
some steadying of herself to the work before she 
could do it. Then she came close to him, — close 
up to him, looking into his face as he stood 
over her, not moving his feet, but almost retreat- 
ing with his body from her close presence. 
^^ William, '^ she said, '' take me in your arms 
and kiss me. How often have you asked me 
during the last month ! Now I have come for 

it :' 

He paused a moment as though it were possi- 
ble to refuse, as though his collected thoughts 
and settled courage might enable him so to 
outrage her in her petition. Then he broke 


dowrij and took her in his arms^ and pressed 
her to his bosom^ and kissed her hps, and her 
forehead^ and her cheeks, — while she, having 
once achieved her purpose, attempted in vain 
to escape from his long embrace. 

'^ Now I shall be your wife/' she said at last, 
when her breath had returned to her. 

" It should not be so.'^ 

" Not after that ? Will you dare to say so 
to me, — after that ? You could never hold up 
your head again. Say that you are happy. 
Tell me that you are happy. Do you think 
that I can be happy unless you are happy with 
me ? '' Of course he gave her all the assurances 
that were needed, and made it quite un- 
necessary that she should renew her prayer. 

'^ And I beg, Mr. Owen, that for the future 
you will come to me, and not make me come 
to you.'' This she said as she was taking her 
leave. " It was very disagreeable, and very 
wrong, and will be talked about ever so much. 
Nothing but my determination to have my 


own way could have made me do it/^ Of 
course lie promised her that there should be no 
occasion for her again to put herself to the 
same inconvenience. 




Isabel spent one pleasant week with lier lover 
at Hereford_, and then was summoned into Car- 
marthenshire. Mr. Apjohn came over at her 
father^s invitation, and insisted on taking her 
back to Llanfeare. 

'' There are a thousand things to be done/' 
he said, '^and the sooner you begin to do them 
the better. Of course you must live at the old 
house, and you had better take up your habita- 
tion there for a while before this other change 
is made.''' The other change was of course 
the coming marriage, with the circumstances of 
which the lawyer had been made acquainted. 


Then there arose other questions. Should 
her father go with her or should her lover ? 
It was, however, at last decided that she should 
go alone as regarded her family, but under the 
care of Mr. Apjohn. It was she who had been 
known in the house, and she who had better 
now be seen there as her nucleus representa- 

" You will have to be called Miss Jones," 
said the lawyer, " Miss Indefer Jones. There 
will be a form, for which we shall have to pay, 
I am afraid ; but we had better take the name 
at once. You will have to undergo a variety 
of changes in signing your name. You will 
become first Miss Isabel Brodrick Indefer 
Jones, then Mrs. William Owen, then, when 
he shall have gone through the proper changes, 
Mrs. William Owen Indefer Jones. As such 
I hope you may remain till you shall be known 
as the oldest inhabitant of Carmar then- 
shire. '^ 

Mr. Apjohn took her to Carmarthen, and 


hence on to Llanfeare. At tlie station there^ 
were many to meet ber, so that her triumph, 
s she got into the carriage,, was almost pain- 
ful to her. When she heard the bells ring from 
the towers of the parish churches, she could 
hardly believe that the peals were intended to 
welcome her back to her old home. She was 
taken somewhat out of her way round by the 
creek and Coed, so that the little tinkling of 
her own parish church might not be lost 
upon her. If this return of hers to the 
estate was so important to others as to justify 
these signs, what must it be to her and how 
deep must be the convictions as to her own 
duties ? 

At the gate of Coed farmyard the carriage 
stopped, and the old farmer came out to say a 
few words to her. • • 

" God bless you, Miss Isabel ; this is a happy 
sight to see.^^ 

'' This is so kind of you, Mr. Griffith." 

f f WeVe had a bad time of it. Miss Isabel ; 

VOL. II. p 


— not that we wished to quarrel with your dear 
uncle's judgment, or that we had a right to 
say much against the poor gentleman who has 
gone; — but we expected you, and it went 
against the grain with us to have our expecta- 
tions disappointed. We shall always look up to 
you, miss ; but, at the same time, I wish you 
joy with all my heart of the new landlord you're 
going to set over us. Of course that was to 
be expected, but you'll be here with us all the 
time." Isabel, while the tears ran down her 
cheeks, could only press the old man's hand at 

^^ Now, my dear," said Mr. Apjohn, as they 
went on to the house, "he has only said justwhat 
we've all been feeling. Of course it has been 
stronger with the tenants and servants than 
with others. But all round the country it has 
been the same. A man, if an estate belong to 
himself personally, can do what he likes with 
it, as he can with the half-crowns in his 
pocket ; but where land is concerned, feelings 


grow up whicli should not be treated rudely. 
Ill one sense Llanfeare belonged to your uncle 
to do what he liked with it^ but in another 
sense he shared it only with those around him; 
and when he was induced by a theory which 
he did not himself quite understand to bring 
your cousin Henry down among these people, 
he outraged their best convictions.'^ 

^^He meant to do his duty, Mr. Ap- 

" Certainly ; but he mistook it. He did not 
understand the root of that idea of a male heir. 
The object has been to keep the old family, 
and the old adherence s, and the old acres 
together. England owes much to the manner 
in which this has been done, and the custom as 
to a male heir has availed much in the doing 
of it. But in this case, in sticking to the cus- 
tom, he would have lost the spirit, and, as far 
as he was concerned, would have gone against 
the practice which he wished to perpetuate. 
There, my dear, is a sermon for you, of 
P 2 


wbicli, I dare say, you do not understand a 

*^ I understand every syllable of it, Mr. Ap- 
jolin/' she answered. 

They soon arrived at the house, and there 
they found not only Mrs. Griffith and the old 
cook, who had never left the premises, but the 
old butler also, who had taken himself off in 
disgust at Cousin Henry's character, but had 
now returned as though there had been no 
break in his continuous service. They received 
her with triumphant clamours of welcome. To 
them the coming of Cousin Henry, and the 
death of the old Squire, and then the depar- 
ture of their young mistress, had been as 
though the whole world had come to an end 
for them. To serve was their only ambition, — 
to serve and to be made comfortable while they 
were serving ; but to serve Cousin Henry was 
to them altogether ignominious. The old 
Squire had done something which, though they 
acknowledged it to be no worse on his part 


than a mistake^ had to them been cruelly 
severe. Suddenly to be told that they were 
servants to such a one as Cousin Henry, — ser- 
vants to such a man without any contract or 
agreement on their part ; — to be handed over 
like the chairs and tables to a disreputable 
clerk from London, whom in their hearts they 
regarded as very much inferior to themselves ! 
And they, too, like Mr. Griffith and the ten- 
ants, had been taught to look for the future 
reign of Queen Isabel as a thing of course. 
In that there would have been an implied con- 
tract, — an understanding on their part that 
they had been consulted and had agreed to this 
destination of themselves. But Cousin Henry ! 
Now this gross evil to themselves and to all 
around them had been remedied, and justice 
was done. They had all been strongly con- 
vinced that the Squire had made and had left 
behind him another will. The butler had been 
quite certain that this had been destroyed by 
Cousin Henry, and had sworn that he would 


not stand behind the chair of a felon. The 
gardener had been equally violent^ and had 
declined even to cut a cabbage for Cousin 
Henry^s use. The women in the house had 
only suspected. They had felt sure that 
something was wrong, but had doubted be- 
tween various theories. But now everything 
was right ; now the proper owner had come ; 
now the great troubles had been vanquished_, 
and Llanfeare would once again be a fitting 
home for them. 

'^ Oh, Miss Isabel ! oh. Miss Isabel ! '^ said 
Mrs. Griffith, absolutely sobbing at her young 
mistress's feet up in her bed-room ; '' I did say 
that it could never go on like that. I did use 
to think that the Lord Almighty would never 
let it go on like that ! It couldn't be that Mr. 
Henry Jones was to remain always landlord 
of Llanfeare.^' 

When she came downstairs and took her seat, 
as she did by chance, in the old arm-chair 
which her uncle had been used to occupy, Mr. 


Apjolin preaclied to her another sermon, or 
rather sang a loud paean of irrepressible 

^' Now, my dear, I must go and leave you, — 
happily in your own house. You can hardly 
realize how great a joy this has been to me, — 
how great a joy it is/' 

^^ I know well how much we owe you.'' 

^^ From the first moment in which he inti- 
mated to me his wish to make a change in his 
will, I became so unhappy about it as almost 
to lose my rest. I knew that I went beyond 
what I ought to have done in the things that I 
said to him, and he bore it kindly." 

" He was always kind." 

"But I couldn't turn him. I told him what 
I told you to-day on the road, but it had no 
efiect on him. Well, I had nothing to do but to 
obey his orders. This I did most grudgingly. 
It was a heart-break to me, not only because of 
you, my dear, but for the sake of the property, 
and because I had heard something of your 


cousin. Then came the rumour of this last 
will. He must have set about it as soon as 
you had left the house/^ 

'^ He never told me that he was going to do 

'^ He never told any one j that is quite cer- 
tain. But it shows how his mind must have 
been at work. Perhaps what I said may have 
had some effect at last. Then I heard from 
the Cantors what they had been asked to do. 
I need not tell you all that I felt then. It 
would have been better for him to send for 

^^ Oh, yes.'' 

" So much better for that poor young man's 
sake." The poor young man was of course 
Cousin Henry. " But I could not interfere. 
I could only hear what I did hear, — and wait. 
Then the dear old man died I " 

" I knew then that he had made it." 

^*You knew that he had thought that he 
had done it ; but how is one to be sure of the 


vacillatirg mind of an old dying man ? When 
we searched for the one will and read the 
other, I was very sure that the Cantors had 
been called upon to witness his signature. 
Who could doubt as to that ? But he who had 
so privately drawn out the deed might as pri- 
vately destroy it. By degrees there grew upon 
me the conviction that he had not destroyed 
it ; that ifc still existed, — or that your cousin 
had destroyed it. The latter I never quite 
believed. He was not the man to do it, — 
neither brave enough nor bad enough.'^ 

" I think not bad enough/' 

'^ Too small in his way altogether. And yet 
it was clear as the sun at noonday that he was 
troubled in his conscience. He shut himself 
up in his misery, not knowing how strong a 
tale his own unhappiness told against him. 
Why did he not rejoice in the glory of his 
position ? Then I said to myself that he was 
conscious of insecurity.^^ 

'^ His condition must have been pitiable." 


'^ Indeed, yes. I pitied him from the bot- 
tom of my heart. The contumely with which 
he was treated by all went to my heart even 
after I knew that he was misbehaving. I knew 
that he was misbehaving ; — but how ? It could 
only be by hiding the will, or by being con- 
scious that it was hidden. Though he was a 
knave, he was not cunning. He failed utterly 
before the slightest cunning on the part of 
others. When I asked him whether he knew 
where it was hidden, he told a weak lie, but told 
the truth openly by the look of his eyes. He 
was like a little girl who pauses and blushes and 
confesses all the truth before she half murmurs 
her naughty fib. Who can be really angry with 
the child who lies after that unwilling fashion ? 
I had to be severe upon him till all was made 
clear; but I pitied him from the bottom of 
my heart.^' 

^^ You have been good to all of us.'' 
" At last it became clear to me that your 
uncle had put it somewhere himself. Then 


came a chance remembrance of the sermons 
he used to read, and by degrees the hiding- 
place was suggested to me. When at last he 
welcomed us to go and search in his nucleus 
bed-room, but forbade us to touch anything in 
the book-room, — then I was convinced. I had 
but to look along the shelves till I found the 
set, and I almost knew that we had got the 
prize. Your father has told you how he flew 
at me when I attempted to lift my hand to the 
books. The agony of the last chance gave 
him a moment of courage. Then your father 
shook the document out from among the 

" That must have been a moment of triumph 
to you,'' 

" Yes ; — it was. I did feel a little proud of 
my success. And I am proud as I see you sit- 
ting there, and feel that justice has been done.'^ 

" By your means ! '' 

'' That justice has been done, and that every 
one has his own again. I own to all the 


litigious pugnacity of a lawyer. I live by sucli 
fightings and I like it. But a case in which I 
do not believe crushes me. To have an injus- 
tice to get the better of, and then to trample 
it well under foot, — that is the triumph that I 
desire. It does not often happen to a lawyer to 
have had such a chance as this, and I fancy that it 
could not have come in the way of a man who 
would have enjoyed it more than I do." Then 
at last, after lingering about the house, he bade 
her farewell. " God bless you, and make you 
happy here, — you and your husband. If you 
will take my advice you will entail the property. 
You, no doubt, will have children, and will take 
care that in due course it shall goto the eldest 
boy. There can be no doubt as to the wisdom 
of that. But you see what terrible misery may 
be occasioned by not allowing those who are 
to come after you to know what it is they are 
to expect."" 

For a few weeks Isabel remained alone at 
Llanfeare, during which all the tenants came 


to call upon her, as did many of the neighbour- 
ing gentry. 

^^ I knowM it/' said young Cantor, clenching 
his fist almost in her face. ^' I was that sure 
of it I couldn^t hardly hold myself. To think 
of his leaving it in a book of sermons ! '^ 

Then, after the days were past during which 
it was thought well that she should remain at 
Llanfeare to give orders, and sign papers, and 
make herself by very contact with her own 
property its mistress and owner, her father 
came for her and took her back to Hereford. 
Then she had incumbent upon her the other 
duty of surrendering herself and all that she 
possessed to another. As any little interest 
which this tale may possess has come rather 
from the heroine's material interests than from 
her love, — as it has not been, so to say, a love 
story, — the reader need not follow the happy 
pair absolutely to the altar. But it may be 
said, in anticipation of the future, that in due 
time an eldest son was born, that Llanfeare 


was entailed upon him and his son, and that he 
was so christened as to have his somewhat 
grandiloquent name inscribed as William Ap- 
john Owen Indefer Jones. 



ST. John's square.